


i just care about being with you

by amyscascadingtabs



Series: parts of the story [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Dating, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Episode: s02e23 Johnny and Dora, Episode: s03e01 New Captain, Episode: s05e04 HalloVeen, Episode: s06e01 Honeymoon, Episode: s06e03 The Tattler, Episode: s06e08 He Said She Said, Episode: s06e12 Casecation, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Monologue, Light Angst, Married Couple, Missing Scenes, Mixed Points In Time, One Shot Collection, POV Alternating, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15112514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyscascadingtabs/pseuds/amyscascadingtabs
Summary: collection of shorter peraltiago stories/one shots/missing scenes, because sometimes this twenty-minute sitcom just leaves me wanting more of these two dorks and their love for each other.





	1. first date jitters

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by a tumblr post by user juliadorable making me think about these two nervous dorks worrying before their first date, resulting in this. major thanks to alwaysandbeyond for beta-reading/hyping me up about this <3  
> Set during 3x01.

For someone who’s never been wildly successful in his dating life, Jake Peralta has been on a lot of first dates.

Not a lot of second dates. Only a few third dates. Four dates is practically a serious relationship in his eyes, and by then he can count the number of those on one hand.

(Four fingers.)

(Fine, three.)

  
He’s well experienced in first dates, though. He knows how to dazzle someone with a gruesome cop story, quote Die Hard in a variety of accents ranging from German to Canadian and he can even impress said date with an only half terrible pick-up line. Yeah, Jake is _great_ at first dates.

 

Or so he tells himself as he keeps walking lap after lap around his apartment like a captive animal in a too small cage.

He’s got this in the bag. He’s wearing a suit which he is ninety-seven percent sure has no food stains on it, he even got a haircut after work to look his best, he’s made his bed and cleaned up the worst of his mess in case they would make their way to his apartment after the dinner.

Just for a drink, of course. He knows about the rules.

(But he did check the date on his condoms, because in the very unlikely case Amy would be up for some rule-breaking later,  he suspects accidentally knocking her up could be a rather awkward beginning to their… whatever it is. Light and breezy.)

 

Jake might have been on first dates before, but he’s never been on a first date with Amy Santiago, and right now it’s making all the difference to the way his heart is threatening to jump out of his chest when he thinks about the fact that he might get to kiss her again tonight.

It’s been effortful enough for him today. As it turns out, kissing Amy Santiago three times in less than twenty-four hours did _not_ make him think about it less.

If anything it’s the opposite. He’s thinking even more about the feel of her lips on his now that he’s lived to experience it, making him spend his work day replaying the memory of those wondrous seconds and fighting to resist the temptation of asking her to help him with something in the evidence locker again.

Kissing her the first time was too hasty and disorienting to fully register what he was doing. Kissing her the second time was sudden and blazingly intense, the way she pressed herself against him sending vibrations through his body, for a moment making him forget they were undercover. Kissing her the third time was soft and all too short, giving life to the cliche of something feeling like coming home.

He never took her for _that_ good of a kisser.

 

Boyle has sent him a whole of forty-three texts about his invented date with the gym floozy, half of them asking Jake to reconsider and urging him to ask out Amy instead.

He’s just about to text Boyle back, telling him _thank you but we’re just colleagues and it will remain that way_ , when he gets another text.

 

**From: Amy Santiago**

**I’m on my way. See you in 15?**

 

It takes three tries before his hands stop shaking enough to send the right words, and he can hear the sound of his own heartbeat when he presses send, but the nervousness is a small price to pay for the euphoria when she sends him a single smiling emoji back.

_Man, he’s so screwed._

 

* * *

 

For someone who normally has her outfit for any occasion planned out the second she knows she’ll be attending it, Amy Santiago is having a lot of second thoughts about what to wear tonight. The entirety of her date-appropriate dress collection has transitioned from hanging neatly on their hangers to laying much less neatly thrown across her bed in what could almost resemble a mess, except for the fact that she’s a Santiago and thereby never creates a mess.

Maybe Jake is having his influence on her already.

(No, that would be insane. They’re not even dating. They’re light and breezy and have clearly established so. It's casual.)

She’s still cross-legged on the floor in her underwear (one of her nice, lacy, matching sets - solely for the confidence, she tells herself), biting her nails and half considering a dose of her anxiety medication. This kind of stress about choosing an appropriate outfit hasn’t happened to her since Captain Holt’s birthday party over a year ago, and she hasn’t missed it for a split second.

 

Tapping her fingers against her temple, she tries to remember what she ended up wearing that night. The memory of a red dress appears - a sleeveless item she rarely ends up using despite how much she enjoys the way it falls on her body, accentuating both her arms and her chest in a way that makes her feel oddly confident. She even has vague memories of noticing the way Jake’s eyes lingered on her in it for brief moments during the evening. They’re moments she put down to coincidence and the instinctive observation skills of a trained detective when they happened, but she wonders now if maybe there was something else there and whether he was aware of it or not.

(Did he already wish then that something could happen between them, romantic-stylez?)

(Did she?)

 

The red sleeveless dress would be a great safe card and perfect for their date. If only she hadn’t lent it to Rosa when her friend asked if she could borrow it for a date night with Marcus a week earlier, because it still hasn’t made its way back to her closet and Amy knows calling Rosa about it would somehow entail her admitting _who_ her date is. Not happening.

 

There is, however, another red dress in a sleek material amongst the ones on her bed. This one isn’t sleeveless, but it's the same fierce color, tight-fitting and ends halfway over her thighs.

 

It’s actually not too bad a choice, she realizes when she’s doing the few last touches of her makeup. The smooth fabric clings to her body in a way she’d forgotten since the last time she wore it, highlighting features that boosts her confidence a little and calms her speeding heartbeat somewhat.

 

If she’s lucky, she might get to kiss Jake Peralta again tonight.

Or more.

She knows he’s always been a rule-breaker, after all.

(And she shouldn't be thinking that way, because she was the one who suggested the rule and then fought to appear unaffected when she noticed the way he struggled to hide his disappointment, but it’s crossing her mind nonetheless.)

 

She’d love to trust him blindly with being on time, but she’s worked with him too many years and knows better, so she sends him a text before leaving.

 

**To: Jake Peralta**

**I’m on my way. See you in 15?**

 

His response comes just as she’s getting in the car.

 

**From: Jake Peralta**

**Can’t wait**

 

Amy sends a single smiling emoji back and tries to stifle the grin appearing on her lips.

(She’s unsuccessful.)

 

_Yeah, she’s screwed._


	2. better uses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they wound up at his apartment after dinner during their first date, Jake's worried about rules. Four-Drink-Amy? Not so much. Set during 3x01. 
> 
> (probably an M rating for this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what you guys do when you're at a plane and haven't slept for over twenty-four hours, but apparently I start writing almost-smutty Peraltiago drabbles. Inspiration from an anonymous ask at tumblr user fourdrinkamy's blog my subconscious remembered;  
> ("It's canon that Jake checks he 100% has consent (in Jake and Sophia), and I feel like after their first date him and Amy are back at his apartment (which he invited her to for totally innocent reasons) and they're kissing and Amy starts unbuttoning his shirt even though he's super turned on and desperately wants her he knows the rules and reminds her and keeps on asking her if she's sure. Amy eventually gets tired of it, pushes his head down and tells him to put that mouth of his to better uses.")

“Amy.” He’s out of breath when he finally gathers the needed discipline to draw back slightly, far enough to notice how her brown eyes are dark with desire in a way he’s never seen in her before. They’ve been at this for a good while now, making out first against his front door and then against the wall and eventually ending up on his couch like desperate, horny teenagers. 

(Well, they  _ are _ two of those things.) 

“It’s not that I’m, uhm, not interested in this, but - “

“But what?” She has one hand on the back of his neck and the other in his now tousled hair. The grip is tight, but that’s not bothering him - rather the opposite. 

“What you said before. The rules.”

“Right. The rules.” A cough and a squeak of the couch as she moves to sit up straight, pulling at the gorgeous red dress which has already slid up tantalizingly far along her thighs. “Yes. We have those.”

“... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable?” It’s intended a confident statement, but comes out more a tentative question. “Or upset. If we were to break them. Or…”

“You think I look uncomfortable?”

“I… no?” He’s already struggling to keep track of his words. It’s nowhere near an easy feat what with the world’s most attractive woman not only wearing a dress that makes it difficult for him to know whether to stare at her boobs or her shoulders; she’s also sitting practically on top of him (she  _ must _ be able to feel how hard he is) in  _ his _ couch in  _ his _ apartment, and it’s not made any easier when she pulls him in for yet another searing kiss. Jake’s not only losing track of what he was planning to say - he feels like he’s losing concept of time, possibly even his own name, like some kind of dumbfounded twelve year old in a non-PG dream. 

“That felt uncomfortable to you?” She’s smirking, looking greatly satisfied with the way she’s made him go dizzy from sheer arousal. 

“Maybe we just don’t tell anyone we broke a rule and it doesn’t count”; he mumbles before letting his hands roam the sides of her dress to locate a zipper on the back. “Is it okay?”   
“Sounds good to me.” Delicate fingers have already tossed his suit jacket to the floor and moved on to his shirt. “And yes, you idiot. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want you to be mad at me if we break it.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Since when did you become such a rule-follower, Peralta?”

“Because it’s  _ you  _ \- “

“Jake, you’re really, really sweet, but the only way I’m going to be mad is if you don’t stop talking and put that mouth of yours to better uses and that’s a fact.”

“ _ God, that’s so hot -   _ “

“Jake.” 

“Right, right. Gotcha.”

  
He does put that mouth of his to better uses, so to say, and when she’s grasping onto tufts of his hair and babbling words of approval together with his name, there isn’t a single brain cell of his devoted to thinking about  _ let’s not have sex right away.  _ As it turns out, when Amy Santiago breaks rules, it ends with both of them seeing stars that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..that was pretty much my first thing writing something less PG and if y'all liked it I might write more.
> 
> Thank you so much for the love on the first piece in this collection by the way, it's been pretty overwhelming because I never thought people would enjoy it that much? Hope you didn't hate this one :')


	3. the best thing that i'll ever do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes seven months before Amy tells him she loves him, but she thinks it long before that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this fluff monologue a few days ago purely as anxiety management and it actually turned out decently so here you go!

It takes seven months before Amy tells him she loves him. She thinks it long before.

 

He stays over at her apartment for the first time four days into their relationship. When it’s time to go to bed, he asks sheepishly if she wants him to sleep on her couch and she says  _ we can share my bed, it’s fine  _ and thinks  _ but I love you for asking. _

 

Six days after they screw light and breezy he performs a moronic but sweet gesture of holding a toast at Captain Dozerman’s funeral, pretending he’s talking about his relationship with a man they accidentally killed - well, startled - when he’s actually talking about her. She blushes, doesn’t maintain eye contact very well throughout the speech, but thinks  _ you’re a giant dork and I love you _ .

 

Two weeks into the relationship, she has her first panic attack in front of him. In retrospect she will understand it’s a reaction from stress and too much work and not enough food or sleep, but in the moment she can only think  _ I’m dying, this is where my life ends  _ and she’s shaking and crying and she can’t remember how to breathe. He looks so confused, biting his lip with worry and looking at her with a nervousness she doesn’t recognize in him, but he sits down next to her on the kitchen floor, puts her hand on his steadily beating heart and encourages her to breathe along with him. When she regains the ability to talk she tells him  _ thanks _ in a faint voice, and he takes her into his arms and hugs her for a long, long time and she thinks  _ you didn’t run away after seeing me like this and I love you for it.  _

 

When they’ve been together for a month she attempts to cook him dinner. He lets her try, even if it is with skepticism, and she fails miserably because she truly cannot cook. He laughs, but then helps her open all the windows to get rid of the smell of burnt cheese and orders takeout for them from the Polish place instead. They eat it on her couch in front of Property Brothers, and she knows he’s getting crumbs on her couch she’ll have to clean up later, but he lets her steal one of his pierogies and once again she tells him  _ thank you _ while really meaning  _ I love you _ .

 

Three months after they get together they decide to give shower sex an honest try. It ends in her slipping and accidentally kicking him in the face so hard he gets a nosebleed, and a blood-soaked hand towel later they agree that there are probably better, less slippery, surfaces than a wet bathtub for them to have their fun on. No actual sex happens for them that afternoon even though they’re both off from work, because neither of them can help but burst out in laughter after the day’s previous events every time they get close, and she thinks  _ this would be really embarrassing if it was with anyone else but it’s you and I love you for being able to laugh about this with me.  _

 

Four months in they’re at Shaw’s celebrating something, and she honestly can’t remember what it is - One Drink Amy is a little bit spacey - but all of the squad is there, cheering and toasting and drinking and chatting. She’s tired, having just solved a case that feels like it sucked all the energy out of her, and is not at all in the mood for talking to anyone. But Jake is there and so she stays, because being around him is always, always better than being alone. When she declines his offer to let him buy her another drink he whispers in her ear that  _ if she wants to, they can just go home and sleep instead  _ and she almost wants to propose to him right then and there, thinking  _ I don’t know how you read my signals so well but you do and I love you _ . 

 

For their six month anniversary, he surprises her with the two of them staying over at the New York Public Library. She raises an eyebrow when he tells her, asking if he really did come up with the idea all by himself. He blushes - he’s cute when he blushes - and says Rosa might have helped him a little. He apologises, says he just wanted to do something really cool for her and she shuts him up with a kiss, tells him she really appreciates it and thinks  _ the fact that you wanted to impress me is so sweet and I love you.  _

 

Only a few nights after he’s taken hostage at a warehouse, and when she opens her phone to see a series of texts about the so called ‘real life Die Hard-situation’ there’s a sharp pang in her heart that has nothing to do with heart problems. Once they’re reunited she practically throws herself into his arms and he asks  _ wow, you were really worried about me  _ with a surprised smile and she mumbles something about his face being warm but thinks  _ you idiot, I love you, how could you ever doubt for a second that I was worried about you.  _

 

When she finally says it, it’s been a long time coming and is still entirely spontaneous. In the moment it means  _ thank you for going to all these crazy activities with me and understanding that it’s the way I do things  _ and  _ I know you’re upset you didn’t catch your arch nemesis today either but you’re still the best detective in my eyes _ , but it also means every single time she’s already thought it and all the times she hopes to say it again.

“Noice, smort”, he responds at first, seeming taken aback by the sudden reveal, and she can’t fully hide her disappointment but luckily she doesn’t have to. “I love you too”, he tells her shortly after, simple but earthshakingly important, and even when they discover they’re definitely in a dance class for widows, she wouldn’t ever have wanted it to happen any other way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always very appreciated, you guys are the absolute sweetest for the love you leave on this ❤


	4. leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after her first real date with Jake, Amy doesn't wake up in her own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another New Captain-fic coming at you because wow, there are so many highlights in that episode and I love writing these nervous just-started-dating dorks. borderline M/some light sexy timez in this.
> 
> title from the only exception - paramore (which for the record is one of my fave love songs ever)

Amy Santiago is an early riser - has been one since the tender age of three, when she used to get up by herself at five a.m. and spend an hour looking at the books in her bookshelf before the rest of her family started waking up - but quarter past five in the morning is at least an hour too early even for her.

Her stupid mattress is simply too damn  _ uncomfortable _ to sleep on. It doesn't make sense. She took her sweet time researching and making a whole binder for buying this, it's served her perfectly for the three years she’s had it without once giving her the slightest bit of discomfort, and  _ oh,  _ now her brain is finally adding the pieces up _. _

This isn't her mattress. She’s not in her own bed.

She’s in Jake’s. 

Oh.

_ Oh. _

 

He’s next to her; close enough for it to feel intimate, far enough for their bodies not to be touching and heightening the slight level of awkwardness in the room. With her eyes shut the only clues to his presence is the comfortable warmth that can only come from someone else’s body heat, the fact that her pillow smells vaguely of what must be his shampoo, and the sound of his slow, sleep-regulated breathing. With her eyes open, there’s no question about it. He’s facing away from her, so she finds herself propping herself up on one elbow to see him better, watching how the way he exhales makes the curls near his forehead wave just slightly.

She’s seen him sleep before, quick naps at the precinct and the odd time on a stakeout, but never in his own bed. Definitely never naked. Definitely not while being naked herself. So, a lot of firsts. 

 

This means they broke a rule, she realises. As soon as that hits her the rest of the memories come rushing back, as if they were simply waiting with impatience for her to draw that one connection.

 

She has memories of making out against his door and kitchen counter, making their way to his couch, the kissing ending only momentarily for them to catch their breaths. His hands, his absurdly attractive hands, on her neck and in her hair, her own working fervently on the buttons of his shirt. She remembers his hesitant question about whether she was sure and she remembers asking him to  _ put that mouth of his to better uses _ and she remembers a gleeful, excited grin before he kissed her again. Him pulling at her zipper, red fabric being pulled over her head a little clumsily before falling to the floor, him close to stupefied with her boobs right in front of him and her being unable to stifle laughter. 

“Bed”, she remembers whispering, an eager nod in response and then a groan when her hands moved from their position on his shoulders to the bulge in his jeans growing more and more evident. Her fingers, stroking him carefully through his boxers and then letting go, leaving him panting. Moving to his bed in a few rushed steps, him discarding jeans and socks, both of them suddenly in nothing but underwear. She remembers a skilful tongue, and she remembers being both impressed and thankful over how he’d made sure he owned unexpired condoms, and she remembers  _ stupid good  _ sex that must be the best outcome of a broken rule she’s ever experienced. 

She hopes it wasn’t a mistake. Title of their sextape. 

Point is, she remembers.

 

And it’s also hitting her how she came here without a change of clothes because _ they had rules _ and rules aren’t made to be broken. Rules were made to be followed, nothing is made to be broken, and she’s in Jake Peralta’s bed with her underwear thrown somewhere on the floor and she’s already mentally preparing for the walk of shame she’s up for, making her way back to her own apartment in a crumpled dress and yesterday’s makeup.

_ Unless.  _

She puts a hand on his shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. It doesn’t seem to affect him, so she shakes it a little and he hums drowsily.

“Jake”, she tries, shaking him lightly again. “ _ Jake _ .” He mumbles something incomprehensible in response, shuffling further towards the edge of his bed. For a second she worries he’s going to fall off, tumble right down to the floor probably hitting his head on the nightstand in the fall giving himself a concussion which would technically be her fault. She’s not having that, so she instinctively puts an arm around him to draw him closer. 

He’s warm. A human space heater, practically. His back is pressing against her, and it takes him letting out a content sigh before she realises she’s honest-to-god spooning him right now.

Which she probably shouldn’t be doing, because they agreed to keep it  _ light and breezy  _ and though Amy’s not quite sure exactly what that entails when they’ve already broken a third of the rules they set, she’s fairly confident sleepy, tender morning-after cuddling is neither light nor breezy.

And yet she doesn’t want to let go.

 

She makes herself do so anyway, albeit unwillingly, and his eyes fly open.  _ Success _ .

“Why’d you stop?” Jake protests, yawning before he turns to face her. Even at five in the morning, he’s looking at her with that soft look she’s seen before without really being able to explain, beaming adoringly at her and making her blush. “It was nice.”

“I have to leave”, she enunciates, biting her lip to keep from smiling back at him. “Unless you want the whole precinct to figure out what happened, I need to get home and change.”

“Aww, and you were worried I was going to think you abandoned me, so you woke me up?” He grins even wider, like he’s trying to outshine the goddamn sun, and it takes all the self-restraint she possesses not to kiss him again at once. “You’re so sweet.”

She rolls her eyes, punching him affectionately in the shoulder. “Actually, I woke you up because I need your clothes.”

“...Huh?”

“Because if I go home on the subway at six a.m with smudged makeup and yesterday’s dress, people are going to call it a walk of shame. But -” She puts her index finger to his chest teasingly -”if I borrow a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from you, I’m  _ just _ going to look kind of like a slob.”

“First of all,  _ rude _ . I happen to look great in sweatpants. Second, why do you care so much? We live in New York, no one’s going to recognize you”, he protests, pulling the comforter up to his chin again. 

“Excuse me for caring about my reputation”, she defends herself. She’s still imagining the judgemental looks from her next-door neighbor if she showed up in the hallway wearing an evening dress in the morning - it happened once and once was enough. “Clothes, Jake?”

“And how will you get them back to me without Charles noticing?”

“Next time. When you come over to my place.”

He lights up at the words. “So there will be a next time?”

“If you give me a change of clothes now, so I can go home and make myself look decent? Yeah, there will be.”

“Deal”, he breathes, and then he’s kissing her again. Morning breath and all, but she strangely doesn’t mind. “For the record, you’re probably going to look hotter in my clothes than I do anyway-”

“Shut up, Peralta”, she whispers against his lips without truly meaning what she’s saying.

 

She ends up stealing a basic pair of gray sweats and a NYPD Academy sweatshirt from him. The sweatpants make their way back to his apartment two days later; the hoodie, mysteriously, never does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! ❤️  
> Kudos and comments always appreciated like crazy (& if you tell me about things/details you loved I will love you forever no exaggeration) and will directly lead to these dorks living happily ever after together


	5. nothing safe is worth the drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "and you?"  
> "he makes me laugh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from treacherous by taylor swift.

Three years after the words were first uttered, when all that remains of secretive pining and violently denying any semblance of feelings for each other is memories, he will ask her about her reasons for saying them.

 

They’ll be on their honeymoon then. Their real one with Parisian destination, not the made-up one to Waco, Texas. They’ll be Jake and Amy, not Johnny and Dora or any other fake identity, and they’ll be celebrating two weeks as happily, exuberantly married.

They’ll be in the king-size luxurious bed taking up most of the hotel room. The fact that they’re there at all will still feel unreal to them after the Nutri-Boom scam, but their squad family led by Boyle will all have pitched in to help them go on their dream trip, and so they’ll have made it to France in the end. 

They’ll be laying next to each other, still catching their breath after the morning’s earlier activities - a honeymoon is a honeymoon, after all. The sun will be shining through the curtains, illuminating his face and the skin of his bare upper body with a soft golden glow, and she’ll look at him and think that maybe he is magic, sparkling and vibrating magic to convince her she’s the luckiest woman in the Universe to be here next to him. He’ll gaze at her with adoration in his eyes, as if maybe  _ she _ is the magic she considers him to be, and he’ll close the barely existent distance between them to draw her in for another kiss. This kiss will be warm, less heated and searing than the ones only minutes before, filled with tenderness and gratefulness. They’ll be smiling against each other’s lips. 

It’s when they part, and she moves so she can lay in his arms and he can play with her hair, still curled from yesterday’s dinner-date, that the conversation will start.

He’ll ask her about the undercover mission. He’ll be referring to the one where they kissed twice, taking initiative once each, giving their all to pretend it was for work and meaningless when their quickly beating hearts were telling them the opposite, and to be even more precise, he’ll ask about  _ why _ . 

He’ll wonder why she was honest in telling Augustine and his sidepiece about the true reason she had fallen for him, revealing how he makes her laugh instead of coming up with a vague pretend statement such as he first attempted to.

This is when she’ll tell him.

 

Amy doesn’t know any of this when she says the words, of course. She’s oblivious about her romantic future and in direct disbelief it would ever involve Jake Peralta, because even though he’s admitted to liking her thrice now and she has to admit there’s been more than one daydream involving her kissing him, she has a rule about not dating any cops. Amy Santiago doesn’t break rules, especially not when said rules involve professionalism, so a future day where she’s Jake’s legally wedded wife is light years away from anything she’s picturing.

 

In the moment before she says it, she knows three things. 

She knows Jake likes her. From  _ romantic-stylez _ to  _ that wasn’t nothing, that was real _ to  _ I was kind of thinking about asking you out,  _ there’s been three official accounts of some sort of revealment of romantic interest from him. Outside of mentioned three occasions, there’s also glances lingering ever slightly longer than necessary, peculiar behavior and rushed attempts at recovering from an accidentally flirty comment. There’s been sudden smiles aimed towards her, ones she’s been unable to successfully decipher, and there’s been something in the way he bites his lip and nods without meeting her eyes, steering the conversation to a case or yet another joke when she’s briefly mentioned a date with another guy. Amy’s not a moron. She can add two and two together. There’s interest there.

She knows Jake has the brightest smile she’s ever seen, one incandescently so, and she knows she’s spent an excessive amount of time thinking about it. When someone gives him a compliment and he accepts it, he will blush as he’s smiling, eyes gleaming before he looks down. She knows how his brain works differently from hers and anyone else’s in the precinct, how it appears unqualified to focus on everyday matters such as being on time or keeping his desk tidy and crumb-free, but how he’s also the one who comes up with the ideas no one else would think of. She knows there’s never a boring work day when he’s there, she knows the rare moments of his emotional honesty always leaves an impression, and she knows the way he cares for the people he loves is poignant and awe-inspiring. 

She counts everything she knows about him to the same point of knowledge, only because it’s not really knowledge at all, but rather a big question mark about what feelings her thoughts about him translate to, and if they’re romantic ones.

She knows she has a choice. He won’t make it for her, because he’s still gentlemanly enough to stick to his promise of them working this case like professionals and keep away from any personal revelations. No, the decision is undoubtedly hers to make, in this very moment and not a second later.

 

She says it.

 

She says it for brutally failed endeavors at slam-dunking a basketball, ridiculous backstories for undercover personalities and inappropriate quips about sextapes. It’s for the same word repeated twenty times at an impossible pace, for enthusiastic sing-alongs to songs on the radio during late night drives and competitions in catching peanuts with your mouth. She says it for made-up tunes about dumpster diving, for fake voices to a nanny-cam teddy bear and for never-ending robot impressions. It’s for innovative arguments and childish enthusiasm, for nicknames and comebacks and grimaces, for his astounding ability to have the corners of her mouth twitch slightly even when she tries to prevent it. 

 

“He makes me laugh”, she tells the woman whose name they still haven’t learned, meaning every syllable of the four words and more.

 

Surprise is palpable in his smile for a brief flashing moment, then an understanding nod and a sudden change in tone when he admits to her opinion being, in his own words, the only one he really cares about. 

 

Little does she know then of the three years later, when she’ll tell him the answer of why in a reply so simple as  _ actually, I’m not sure _ , and he will shrug and say whatever reason she had, he’s happy she did.

She will trail kisses along his collarbone before answering, and then she’ll say,  _ so am I, Jake, so am I.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you just need to ramble for a bit about how much these two dorks love each other so that's what i did hope you enjoyed it xoxo  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated i love you all ❤︎


	6. all that you are is all that i'll ever need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake goes engagement ring shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Hi! Love your writing and was wondering if you’d ever consider writing a fic where Jake actually goes and buys the engagement ring? Of course you don’t have to write this but it would be so lovely!!" /anonymous
> 
> title from tenerife sea by ed sheeran.

It’s one of the last things he does before the trial.

Naturally, he would have preferred a more romantic time and reason to call up his oldest friend and tell her he needs to cash in a favor. A lingering threat of fifteen years of imprisonment, hovering over him like a dark thunderhead and shooting continuing electric bolts of petrifying, debilitating anxiety of what he has to wait, is not the motive he imagined.

But they’re T-minus seven days to trial now. For every minute he spends in his girlfriend’s presence, every tender kiss or comforting hug or even the most simple squeeze of a shoulder he shares with her now, the more he’s realizing how desperately he’ll need this life-line in the unlikely case their two-pronged defense meat fork should fail.

 

He calls her shortly after nine in the evening. Amy’s just texted him she’s stuck at Holt’s house going over the details of their case against Hawkins for the umpteenth time and will be late home, and for this one rare case, he’s not solely disappointed over it.

“Gina? I need your help with a thing. It’s important.”

“It better be good”, she groans from the other end of the phone. “Give me something juicy. You woke me up, idiot.”

“You were sleeping at nine p.m?”

“You try being pregnant and then you can complain about my sleeping habits.”

“I think I’ll skip, thanks”, he mutters, inspecting a mysterious ink stain at his wrist. It vaguely reminds him of a heart. “Anyways - since you’ve been engaged eight times and all - do you think you could -”

“Help you pick out an engagement ring?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, your timing sucks, but I like the gesture. Good on you. Swing by at 11 tomorrow. You’re driving.”

“Thanks, goose.”

“Anytime”, she yawns and promptly hangs up on him.

 

For the entirety of his stay in prison, there’s an engagement ring on hold at the fine jewelry store Gina guided him to, waiting for him.

Keeping him sane.

* * *

 

Over three months it waits before he’s home and back at work and has the countdown app on his phone counting down the seconds to midnight November 1st, 2017.

Two weeks before Halloween - or a little over one million two hundred seconds, according to his googling from the same morning - he picks it up.

“Ames?” They’re leaving work together, her after a day in the field and him after one of desk duty, also known as a day of mind-numbing paperwork and Buzzfeed quizzes about what iconic fall food matches his personality. (Turns out he’s pumpkin cheesecake. Now he’s craving it.)

“Mm-hmm?” Their arms are linked and the still bare fingers on her left hand are intertwined with his, reveling into the casual intimacy they’re finally, finally allowed now. “Is something up?”

“Nothing big, I just-” Lying to Amy is top three of his least favorite things to do, not far from talking about his abandonment issues or drinking water. This lie, however, is an exemption. He tries to meet her curious gaze while explaining. “Forgot I had an errand to run. Twenty minutes tops.”

“What is it? I’ll go with you.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to”, he rambles too quickly and she narrows her eyes. “It’s… a sneaker thing. You’d be bored out of your mind.”

“No, no, it’s not a problem! I can handle some sneakers.” She gives him an assuring smile and squeezes his hand tighter. “In case you want company.”

He knows they’re both thinking about his first days home from Prison, the days where Amy sat on the bathroom floor solving crosswords while he showered because closed doors made him shake. He’s only just learned how to close them again, still avoids it if he can.

“I actually thought it might be a good thing for me. Get some practice. Feel normal, y’know.”

She nods slowly. “That makes sense. Want me to drive you?”

“Nah, I can take the subway.” Jake draws her in for a hasty kiss, keeping it pg-friendly while they’re still less than fifty meters away from the precinct and Charles overexcitement any time they do so much as stand next to each other.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will.”

“I’m only a few minutes away.”

“Ames, I can handle it.”

“I know”, she whispers, drawing her thumb along his jawline before pecking his lips again. “I’ll see you at home, then?”

“Half an hour”, he promises. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The last declaration before he has a ring, he notes, and wonders instantly how many more there’ll be before the proposal.

How many I love you’s fit into one million two hundred seconds?

 

There’s a soft _pling_ from the door as he steps into the fine jewellery store, trying not to compare his worn leather jacket and blue hoodie to the neatly dressed couple in matching sleek suits looking at rings in the corner. The atmosphere of the place breathes expensiveness and elegance and he’s acutely aware he spilled curry dressing on his jeans at lunch, but he gets eye contact with the older lady behind the desk and draws a breath of relief when she gives him an encouraging nod.

“What can I help you with, dear?”

“I had an engagement ring on hold. From three months ago? Peralta.” Saying the words _engagement_ and _ring_ out loud again makes his mouth dry from nerves and heart giddy with felicity at the same time.

“One minute”, says the sales lady before disappearing into the back of the store.

There’s a short buzz from his phone, and he picks it up to find a text from Amy.

 _You okay?_ , followed by the two smaller pink hearts.

 **I’m great. Be home soon** , he texts back, adding three of the pink hearts and a red one solely to beat her.

_Good. I miss you._

**Miss you mostest**

_Not a word, but I’ll take it._

 

He never really thought a whole lot about marriage before her. Up until Captain Holt taught him the true meaning of a family and the beauty of being part of a team, up until he was first separated from them during his time undercover and then in Witsec, Jake held firmly on to his belief that he would die in a majestic Die Hard-style shootout, offering his life to protect New York City.

Marriage would have made said life goal much more complicated. It's not like he’d had a ton of luck with his love life before, either. Not until her.

She’s incredible, and she’s his best friend, and he knows now for sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He wants to spend the rest of his life with harebrained bets and zealous competition, with light-hearted jokes in otherwise sincere conversations and the very best smiles in the world, with the best sex he’s ever had and adorable frustration over about typos in crosswords. It’s all of equal importance to him. He wants to have a conversation with a stranger and mention his wife and mean her, and if he has to grow old someday he wants to do it with Amy.

Title of their sex tape.

 

“Mr. Peralta?” The sales lady has returned, a slip of paper and ring box in hand. “This one, yes?” She gives it to him and he’s confounded for a second over how light it is, remembers it feeling heavier the first time he held it. Perhaps it contained a kind of symbolical weight then - heavy with a promise to himself that when ( _if_ , he’d thought during the worst nights) he got out of prison, he would get to hold it again.

It’s thin gold with two smaller diamonds on top gleaming in the store’s bright lighting, and it’s fitted to the exact same size as one from Amy's jewellery box to make sure it would work. It’s elegant without being clumsy, high quality without once again putting him back in the crushing debt he’s only just made his way out of, eye-catching without being distracting. It’s the closest thing to a perfect ring he could find. If all goes well, it’ll sit on her left fourth finger in two weeks time.

(Less than one million two hundred seconds, he thinks.)

 

There’s another short vibration from his pocket.

 _We’re out of pasta. Can you pick some up on the way home?_ Amy’s sent a prayer hands emoji as with her text, and he grins before answering.

**Sure. You know me I never miss out on a chance to save the day**

Five seconds later she sends a quick selfie of herself smiling and doing a thumbs up back, making his heart do cartwheels even though he last saw her twenty minutes ago.

“Mr. Peralta? Your payment”, the sales lady reminds him.

“Yeah, of course.”

Four years ago, the thought that he would one day has an economy and savings account stable enough to afford an engagement ring would have had him twitching on the floor with laughter. The suggestion of him buying said ring for Amy Santiago of all women wouldn’t have seemed believable to anyone - least of all him.

Truth be told, it still feels like a miracle, but it’s _his_ miracle and it’s real and it’s happening and the card reader approves the transaction and he signs the insurance slip and it’s done.

 

He picks up pumpkin cheesecake and three bags of the ecological pasta on the way home, the ring safely placed in the inner pocket of his work bag where Amy never looks.

(One million two hundred seconds.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos always give me life <3  
> also I don't know shit about buying engagement rings and I didn't do a whole lot of research sorry guys just go along pls


	7. long as my heart is beating, this is it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Jake celebrate an anniversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is honestly just shameless plotless fluff inspired by the fact that I've been sick for a week and I miss these two a lot. hope you enjoy!
> 
> title from this is it by thriving ivory.

There is no tradition at the Nine-Nine more sacred than the Halloween Heist. There are no excuses, no exceptions, no forgetting the yearly spectacle that is a bunch of cops blatantly ignoring their assigned duties for a day to team up and go through the ordeal of attempting to steal a chosen object in order to be crowned an amazing detective or human slash genius; until there is.

 

Early in October, Holt announces he will be at an important conference in Washington during the day of the heist. A week before, Charles and Rosa are asked to go undercover for two weeks to get more evidence on the dealer they’ve been tailing for months. Then Terry’s kids bring home a nasty case of the flu, spreading through Terry to the rest of the precinct and resulting in the majority of remaining detectives coming down with a fever.

Calls are made. Cancellation fees for body doubles and ruse pizza delivery guys are paid. Sighs echo through the bullpen when Holt announces the heist will indeed be postponed until further notice.

No one won the Halloween heist last year, but this year there won’t even be one.

 

It’s lucky there are other things to celebrate. The day after Frans Bruggen’s birthday, National Knock Knock Jokes’ day or Caramel Apple day; the possibilities for festivities are endless, and yet Jake is focused only on one. 

 

“You know what today is, babe?” He whispers it in her ear when the alarm rings at seven a.m sharp. The shrill noise is hurtful as always, but after a full night’s sleep curled up next to his wife for the first night after three night shifts in a row, it could practically be a new Taylor Swift hit. 

“Yes”, she groans, voice croaky and eyes still closed. “It’s the first day in three years I’m calling in sick to work.”

“Are you sure? It just might bring about the end of the world, Ames.” She  _ is _ warm - he feels the unnatural heat emanating from her skin as he presses soft kisses to the side of her forehead. “I’m honestly impressed they invented something you weren’t vaccinated against.”

“Nobody  _ invented  _ viruses, Jake. And yes, I’m sure. I feel like I’m doing that horrible winter bath with Holt and Rosa again, but I’m also burning up and my throat is sandpaper.”

“Miserable you is kind of cute”, he muses, handing her the cup of water on her nightstand. “But that might be because all you-s are cute.”

“Sure.” She empties the water cup in big gulps and launches straight into a coughing fit before slumping her head back down on the pillow. “Cute is definitely top ten of things I am feeling at this moment.”

He shakes his head, unable to stifle the smile creeping up on his lips when he sees her. She does look pitiable blinking at him with glossy eyes, but damn it if she’s not still the cutest sick person he’s ever seen. “Happy engagement day, babe.”

“Aww. Today’s Halloween, huh?”

“Sure is. And you look so much like a zombie you won’t even need a costume!” His grin is short-lasting, abruptly interrupted by a pillow to the face after only a second or two.

“Screw you”, she mumbles, but he can see the corners of her mouth twitch.

“While a tempting offer, you, m’lady, need to save your energy.”

“Very funny.”

“Constantly. In all seriousness, flu-friendly celebrations will be taking place tonight, so be there or be square.” He gives her one last brief kiss before reluctantly slipping out of bed. “Call if you need anything, okay? I  _ will _ be checking my phone obsessively.”

“Jake, you’ve got work to do.”   
“Amy, my wife is sick.”

“Right, right. I forget my husband is a hopeless dork.” She rolls her eyes before coughing and pulling up the covers to her chin again. “See you tonight, babe.”

He’s heard her say it for three years, and it still makes every inch of his skin tingle.

 

He misses her at work. He successfully bargained with Terry to have the night off - the man loves love after all - and so he only needs to survive up until seven p.m before he’s allowed to leave, but today it’s an eternity. An Amy-less eternity, which is arguably the worst kind of all eternities.

She texts him hourly updates to assure him she’s not dying. He sends back cute bitmojis of the two of them, retellings of the most fascinating arrests of the day and encouraging compliments telling her she’ll kick this flu’s ass and be back in tip top shape in no time. It’s not quite waiting for the last minutes to pass while feeling the ring box burn inside his back pocket, heart fluttering like it’s threatening to jump out of his chest, but she sends him a Die Hard gif after one of the updates and he swears he falls a little bit more in love with her right then and there.

It never gets tiring.

 

~

 

“One Whole Foods chicken noodle soup and one Meat Supreme pizza served room temperature, delivered to your door.” He places the plastic bags on the kitchen island quick as he can when he gets home, eager to join her on the couch. “They made sure to send their most good-looking delivery guy too, so you better give them a good rating.”

She snorts, laughing at him from beneath the three blankets she’s buried herself under. “They did, huh? Can’t argue with that. I’ll leave him a tip.”

“Kisses are accepted as currency at this particular chain. Especially if the customers are hot.”

“Sexist”, she mutters. “And I don’t want to make you sick.”   
“My immune system has survived thus far, ergo, it’s unbeatable.” He leans over to press a chaste kiss to her forehead anyway. “How are you feeling?”

“Never better, thanks.” Amy gestures to the assortment of napkins, empty teacups, medicine and crossword magazines occupying the couch table. “Lucky there’s no heist this Halloween. I would never have been able to win in this condition.”   
“You would have figured out a way.”

“Oh, for sure.”

He hums something soft in agreement, moving one of the blankets to minimize the space in between them. Amy looks like she’s about to protest for a split second, but then he gestures for her to move over and soon she’s in his arms, the little spoon for once this time because she’s  _ sick _ and Jake’s not a monster. She lets out a content sigh when he lets his fingers run through her hair, drawing circles and playing with it to design a strictly alternative hairstyle. A few strands of hair gets caught under his wedding ring somehow, making both of them laugh, and it’s not the electrifying suspense of a Halloween heist but it’s perfection still, this intimate moment of safety and satisfaction and the intangible definition of knowing things worked out in the end.

“I knew you were going to figure it out, you know”, he says when her breathing has grown so even he fears she might be falling asleep. “Last year. I designed my entire proposal after that assumption.”

“I know, Jake.”   
“Humble as always.”

She shakes her head before turning around to face him with a smug look, lips together in a confident smirk. “I  _ am _ the last one in this relationship to have been crowned an amazing detective slash genius. If you recall.”

He grins, remembering this night three years ago. “Pretty hard to forget. That was  _ epic _ .”

“Was kinda brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“It  _ was _ a genius move.”

“Mm-hmm. And how is that word spelled again?”

“Sheesh, Ames, that was one time!” He punches her teasingly in the shoulder.

“Five, and I screenshotted them all because the fact that you were calling yourself a genius while spelling the word itself wrong was absolutely hilarious.”

“You never forget something, do you?”

“Nope. Congrats on marrying me.” She lights up at her last words, that infectious smile shining brighter than should be allowed, and kisses him. It lasts too short, and will probably cause him to wake up with a fever tomorrow, but he still considers it worth it. “Sorry I’m such boring Halloween company. I know take-out and binge-watching The Good Place maybe wasn’t how you’d planned on celebrating.”

This time, he’s the one to kiss her before answering. “Every day I get to -”

“Nope, nope, nope.” She places her hand over his lips without letting him finish the sentence. “You don’t get to repeat your wedding vows at any given occasion just because they were good. Come up with something new.”

“You’re asking too much of the man who complimented your butt  _ twice _ in his proposal speech, Ames.” She sticks out her tongue at him in response and he laughs sweetly, linking their hands under the blankets to run his hands over the two rings. “But as long as it’s with you, it doesn’t matter whether it’s takeout and Netflix or crazy-ass heists. Honestly.”

“I love you.”

“Love you more. Dinner on the couch tonight?”

“You got it.” She curls up like a ball with the blankets in the corner of the couch after he untangles himself from her, watching him get to work on heating up her soup. “Oh, and Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for making me like Halloween.”

 

(Flu-friendly engagement celebrations end up being dinner and ice cream and Amy falling asleep halfway through the second episode, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure this is my best writing but hope it made you smile anyway!  
> thank you to my girlfriend for letting me steal the genious/genius from our real life snapchat convo, you're the Jake


	8. i'm thinking that we could make forever after all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy, post-HalloVeen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two updates in two days what's HAPPENING  
> (a week off from school and a sudden burst of motivation that's what's happening)
> 
> this might just be the most meandering thing ever. happy engagementversary, peraltiago. ❤︎
> 
> title from cinderblock garden by all time low.

 

They don’t make it home until late in the night.

Truth be told, she’s not certain it’s still night. Four thirty a.m pertains rather to a painstakingly early morning in Amy Santiago’s playbook, the kind associated with responsibly affordable flights and returning home after the dreaded post-Florida night shifts of last year. Those shifts had been a honest-to-god nightmare, altering her circadian rhythm to something entirely indistinguishable from before and causing her to lash out at her coworkers when the exhaustion got the best of her.

She’d survived it, though. For him. To get him back.

Perhaps it was a little bit for Holt too, a desperate effort to get her mentor and best superior officer through her career back to the 99th precinct, but he hadn’t been the deciding factor. At the end of the day, her making the agonizing but conscious decision to ignore Captain CJ’s orders and cram herself into Terry’s minivan for a roadtrip to Florida had all been because of Jake.

Her boyfriend, she thinks, and quickly scratches the thought.

Not boyfriend.

Her  _ fiancé _ . 

Her fiancé, who is currently ever so slightly intoxicated and pressing lazy, warm kisses to the back of her neck, successfully making her forget all about the freezing weather outside. Three-drink-Jake doesn’t quite possess a distinguished drunkenness personality trait, but had she been asked to, she would have named this particular edition  _ Jake is a little bit clingy.  _ His arms are around her waist as she fumbles with the key to their apartment and they all but stumble inside, having lost all sense of skilful coordination somewhere around the area of their second drink and twenty-third hour of staying awake.

He’d suggested they take the first of November off, back when they had been planning their schedules for the current work period. Amy understands why now.

“You’ll have to let go of me now”, she tells him, squeezing his hand as a call to action. “So we can take off our clothes.”

“I like the sound of that”, he huffs in a half-chuckle. It vibrates against her ear, almost tickling her, and she rolls her eyes.

“I meant to go to bed. For sleep. A phenomena often-times recommended to people who have been up for twenty-six hours.” She loosens herself from his grip, spinning around to press a swift kiss to his lips.

“ _ Bo _ -ring”, he interjects, but he shrugs off his jacket and takes off his sneakers, letting her do the same before taking her into his arms again. “There. Never letting go now.”

It’s her turn to laugh this time, the noise muffled by the t-shirt she’s pressing her face against, breathing him in. “That’s going to be impractical at some point, babe.”

“Is not.”

“Is so.”

He shakes his head, blinking before running his hand over the thin gold ring with two smaller diamonds on top. “We’re getting married”, he whispers, and it’s so  _ soft _ , the way he says it, like a thousand little explosions of scintillating joy exploding in a cloud around them.

She replies through standing up on her toes, kissing him.

She can feel him smiling against her lips. It makes her deepen the kiss, channel all of the gratefulness and brand-new excitement she’s feeling into it, running her fingers through the unusually tidy curls as she does.

“We’re getting married”, she breathes in agreement either minutes or hours later when she has to retreat for air. “For real.”

He grins, tucking her hair behind her ears. “God, I can’t wait to be married to you.”

She could give him an answer, tell him exactly how much she feels the exact same way, but instead she simply takes his hand and leads him into the bedroom.

They fall asleep at an hour Amy would argue technically belongs to the morning.

It doesn’t bother her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff. fluff. fluffffffffff.  
> ❤︎
> 
> kudos and comments and subscriptions and whatnot make my freaking day. thank you for reading, babes.


	9. there's tears we'll cry, but those tears will fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake Peralta can't sleep, and Amy Santiago is plotting a murder. Post 5x02.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is somewhat of a follow-up (though it can 100% be read independently) to [i'll take your hand when thunder roars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632277), which recently reached 200 kudos. that's huge to me, because it's the first single-chapter work i like to reach that much. i have no words. thank you, lovelies. ❤︎
> 
> title from the same song as the original fic; walking the wire by imagine dragons. ❤︎

He’s trying to be quiet. She can tell.

He’s always trying to be quiet these nights, no matter how many times she tells him it’s okay if he’s not.

 

He’s trying to be quiet, and in her head Amy is plotting new ways she could kill Melanie Hawkins if she ever had the chance. Poison could work, the slow-acting kind subtly slipped into the watery excuse they serve for coffee in prisons. She could hire a hitman. She could walk straight up to that smug, villainous face and straight-up assault the woman until Hawkins can no longer possibly recover, were it not for the question of legality and the fact that not in a thousand years would Jake allow her to do so.

Amy Santiago’s not going to kill Melanie Hawkins, but at quarter past three a.m., when their mattress sways and the familiar warmth of his body in close proximity to hers vanishes, she’s tempted.

 

Three weeks out of prison, and he jokes about it during the day now, painting gawky strokes to add to the illusion of _everything is normal_ , _nothing has changed_.

He flinches at sudden noises, leaves a glint of every door open, practically jumped with surprise when she dropped a pot in the sink and made a loud noise yesterday. She notices, writes down the facts in her head and compares them with the list of PTSD symptoms memorized like a mental photocopy when she worries.

They drive to work together again. They get coffee, his black with an excessive amount of sugar and hers with milk, and enter the precinct with matching paper cups. Sometimes - though she cringes at the unprofessionalism of it all - they hold hands when they walk in. He sits at the desk opposite from hers again, slumped over a stack of papers, looking up at her for fugacious moments to shoot her a dopey grin or the odd wistful gaze she fails to fully comprehend. She tells him about cases and he tries to help, asking if she’s considered whether the maid’s ex-girlfriend is worth looking into (yes, it turns out) and if she’s sure the cab driver’s innocent (she’s not, and arrests him hours later). They have take-out dinners together, make occasional efforts to help each other cook and still fail. They watch Jeopardy and yell out questions they know before falling asleep close together in the same queen-size bed.

It’s normal.

 

It’s normal until the bed is cold and he’s trying to be quiet.

 

She’s too drowsy to bother putting on actual pants, so she settles for a hoodie when she abandons the still warm comforter and rolls out of bed, reaching for her glasses and reluctantly forcing her body awake.

It’s not the first night this has happened. Rather, it’s becoming routine, one she never expected but deals with nonetheless because maybe that’s what love is.

Amy Santiago can’t kill Melanie Hawkins, can’t erase a single moment of what Jake went through in prison and can’t heal his scars, but she _can_ get up in the middle of the night to let him know he’s not alone.

So she does.

 

He’s trying to be quiet, but there’s light coming from outside her bedroom door and the noise of someone opening and closing a kitchen cupboard trying not to slam it too hard. She hears a cough, feels the ever-present weight of worry ease marginally just by knowing he’s there, shakes her head at the disheartening thought of how much work her own psyche needs after what they went through.

He needs time and she needs time, and she wants to go back and make sure neither Jake nor Rosa even met with Hawkins so that Amy wouldn’t be standing here, watching her boyfriend stare out the window and wondering how to announce her presence without making him jump the way all sudden noises do now.

“Hey”, she settles for whispering, keeping her distance to a beginning. “Can’t sleep?”

He must see her reflection in the window, because he flinches only slightly before easing into an apologetic grimace. “Not really.”

“I told you to wake me. If you need company.”

“You looked peaceful.” He shrugs and drinks the last sip of the orange soda he’s poured into a glass. “Felt rude.”

She shakes her head, walking up to him and placing her arms around his waist in a wordless embrace. Jake shifts a little before she feels him relax, taking a few deep breaths as she holds him, letting her hands move languidly up along his shoulders and arms. He’s still thinner than he used to be - she’s still trying not to think about it.

“Same nightmare?” she asks him, receiving a nod in return.

“Eh. More or less.”

“I’m sorry.”

He crinkles his forehead, narrows his eyes in the dim lightning. “Why? It’s not your fault, Ames.”

“I want to kill Hawkins”, it comes out of her as a sudden reveal she can barely control, her face pressing into his t-shirt and avoiding the look on his face. “I’ve never wanted to kill anyone before. But her, god, I want to kill her. For what she did to you, to Rosa, to _me_ \- it makes me want to point a gun to her head and just fire it.”

He’s silent. She hears a _clink_ as he puts down the soda glass in the sink, leaving it there for the next morning when she will get up and rinse it out reflexively and he will tell her she didn’t have to. His arms wrap around her tighter than before, almost making her forget that her legs are shivering, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in.

“I know”, he mumbles, warm breath tickling against her scalp. “It’s okay.”

“I wish it hadn’t happened.”

“Me too.”

“But it did”, she whispers again, the realization dawning upon her anew like a stubborn hammering noise at the back of her head. “I can’t change that.”

“No.” His fingers catch in her hair as he starts drawing calming circles with them to calm her down. “But we’re going to be okay, Ames.”

“Are we?”

“We are”, he says, and she hugs him even tighter, hugs him until it feels like they are squeezing each other, squeezing to know they are safe and together and okay, okay enough to go to work during the days but not yet okay enough to be free of the nightmares.

 

One day, she hopes they will be.

Until then she falls asleep on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes while he watches Die Hard on low volume.

She doesn’t kill Melanie Hawkins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, my name is johanna and i'm obsessed with post-prison hurt/comfort peraltiago. i also like comments, kudos and pepsi max, like, pretty sure those are the main three things you could give me that are guaranteed to make me happy in life


	10. a little bit scandalous (but baby, don't let them see it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from into you by ariana grande

Jake’s well aware of how beautiful his wife is.

Truly, he if anyone knows exactly how stunning she manages to look in every single possible outfit, from the tantalizing cherry-colored dress she wore to their first real date to her classic pantsuits or the longed-for sergeant’s uniform she looks dope in. He’s never seen anyone look as good in pajamas as she does, has found himself admiring her even the time they were forced to borrow beige and ill-fitting garments from the Boyle cousins in Texas, and not even his critique-worthy goldfish memory will ever be able to forget a single moment of what it felt like to see her in a wedding dress walking down their makeshift aisle on her way to marry him.

 

Name a synonym to beautiful and she’s it to him.

On the few and far-between mornings he wakes up before her and has the unfathomable luck to see her with charmingly messy hair and no makeup, she’s adorable. At work, wearing her neatly pressed uniform and tight ponytail, she’s professional and plain _hot_ , which he makes sure to tell her - often. When they’re out and about off duty and she wears flower-patterned blouses paired with skinny jeans, she is some kind of magnificent blend of _cute_ and _gorgeous_ and _awe-inspiring_ all at once.

Amy Santiago is beautiful, and he’s blessed with the fortune that is being allowed to watch her exist as she goes about her daily life, even luckier to get to share that life with her.

 

He reminds himself of that tonight, watching her mingle with their friends at Shaw’s with a drink in hand, noticing every detail about her with the eyes of a trained detective. They observe the sleeveless blouse which shows off both the muscles she’s gained there from police work and twice-a-week workouts, as well as more cleavage than usual. They detect how perfectly this pair of jeans frame her legs and yeah, he’s admitted to be a fan of her butt before, but these jeans are doing something extra to it which he doesn’t mind _at all._ They note how her hair falls over her shoulders, how her fingers wrap around the beer bottle (he’s most definitely thinking about them wrapping around something else), how her rose lipstick is getting a bit smudged. She laughs at something Gina tells her, this mellifluous sound he doubts he’ll ever get enough of, the smile he’s so weak for forming on the lips he keeps imagining against his skin.

Tonight, the first descriptor to come to mind when he thinks of his wife is _sexy._

Like, making it hard for him to concentrate, ensuring he’s heard about four percent of the story Charles is telling him, making his blood rush south while they’re _in public, damn it_ , sexy.

She meets his eyes just then, and either she must read him really well or perhaps great minds think alike, because she takes one look at him before gesturing with her elbow to the exit.

He’s not sure if he says goodbye to Charles before grabbing his jacket and following his wife. It’s possible he doesn’t, but his best friend of anyone should be understanding in cases like this.

 

The early-autumn night is chilly, yet he’s warm all over as he presses his lips to hers, carefully at first but quickly changing the style as one of her hands run through his curls and the other one stays on his upper back. He darts his tongue over her lips, teasing her before giving in, and he’s kissed her so many times but it’s never the slightest bit boring. She tastes a little bit like beer and a little bit like mint and a lot like _Amy_ , kissing him back with invigorating enthusiasm and nipping at his bottom lip, leaving him all the more turned on when they eventually retreat for a few deep breaths.

“Wanna go back home?” she asks, a smirk on her lips. “Indecent exposure being a crime and all.”

“Please.” He’s out of breath, positively panting, and the smirk grows more devious.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed”, she warns before spinning him around, leaving him leaning against the brick wall, her hands splayed against his shirt.

“I think experience has proved our countertops are pretty functional for this purpose”, he mumbles, distracted by the way she’s trailing kisses along his jaw, staining it with lipstick.

“Well, you _did_ get that scar on your back once.”

“ _Worth it_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative title: amy is hot and jake is horny. mood, jake, mood
> 
> #kitchencabinetscarissexscar


	11. and it's easy done, our little remedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Well, this is awkward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from moment's silence by hozier
> 
> all i'm writing now is apparently horny peraltiago die mad about it

Truly, Jake loves spending time with Amy’s family.

Once the unavoidable initial awkwardness he felt around them had lessened to a degree where he wasn’t constantly fearful of one wrong move or possibly offensive word resulting  in a baseball bat to the head, he’s genuinely enjoyed every time they’ve made their way to New Jersey for lively discussions, exquisite food and seven brothers all equally eager to show him baby pictures of his wife.

However, spending three days with them in a house not nearly big enough for so many is proving to be a lot more challenging than he’d imagined. Excluding the picture of one-year-old Amy in nothing but yellow rain boots and a diaper, which Luis saw it as his brotherly duty to show to his sister’s husband, Jake has seen nothing but short glimpses of his wife all day.

He’s getting a bit desperate. When you’re both hard-working cops, time off together is precious and not to be wasted. It just doesn’t matter how many funny jokes Christian cracks or how proud he feels when Camila compliments his table-setting skills; he’s not seen Amy since he woke up next to her this morning and it’s driving him crazy.

 

Really, you can’t blame him for practically jumping off the bed to kiss her when she finally enters the guest room they’re staying in. He missed her. 

“Uhm”, she says when their lips part, and god, she’s so beautiful - the burgundy sweater she’s wearing is one of his favorites on her for sure, and there’s an uneven braid in her hair that suggests she’s let one of her nieces or nephews play hairdresser with her. “Hello to you too.”

“I missed you”, he admits. She rolls her eyes at him, but he can see the corners of her mouth twitch.

“That quickly?”

“Hey, don’t judge me. You’re a very missable person.”

“Not how you use that word, but I’ll take it”, she smirks, striding across the room to fall back on the bed they’re sharing for the weekend. “Wanna nap with me before dinner? I’m exhausted.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice, quickly taking off his shoes to take his place next to her. She puts an arm around his shoulders, not quite letting him be little spoon but giving him some of the safety he so relishes, and for the first time that day he can fully relax.

“Where were you all day? I’ve not seen you since this morning”, he asks when they’re all settled in a comfortable snuggle-position.

“I can barely remember”, she murmurs, eyes closed. “Helped with food. Played with kids. Went for a power walk with my dad - can’t remember why I agreed to that. What have you’ve been up to?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I remember Luis showing me more baby pictures of you.”

“He’s right to, I was a damn cute baby.”

“So humble”, he laughs. 

 

She doesn’t answer him, making him wonder if she might have fallen asleep already, and he’s only just starting to drift off himself when he’s brought back to consciousness by a pair of familiar lips against his. They’re careful at first, waiting to see if he responds with the same enthusiasm. When he does there is more of a bite to them, lazy and innocent kissing quickly progressing to full-on making out and damn, it’s only been a couple days, but he’s missed this. She moves so that she’s straddling him, pauses to take off her sweater and yeah, alright, he’s  _ definitely _ missed it.

“I thought you were exhausted?” He can’t help but grin, sitting up straighter against the bed’s headboard.

“You looked cute”, she shrugs, and he doesn’t need more explanation. He busies himself leaving a trail of kisses to her neck instead. “Plus, I kind of missed you too.”

“How long before dinner, again?”

“We’re good.”

He’d protest - Camila Santiago coming in to find them like this has featured in more than one of his nightmares - but Amy’s practically grinding on him by now, so it’s a bit hard for him to. Pun intended. He trusts her, anyway.

She gets to work on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one so slowly it’s excruciating, and he’s moving the straps of her tank top aside to reach her bra and she’s still straddling him and - 

 

The door opens.

“Dinner’s read… oh. Ehm - okay.” They both fly apart, spotting a blushing Tony in the door frame. “Wow. Well, this is awkward.”

“You could’ve  _ knocked _ ”, Amy wheezes, adjusting the straps of her tank tops to sit on her shoulders and not at her elbows. “I’m going to  _ kill you _ , Tony -”

“I’m not the one having sex in the same house as your whole family without  _ locking the door _ -”

“You’re. Dead.”

“I’m going to pretend I never saw this, but I’m  _ so _ using it as leverage”, her brother grins, seeing how flushed Jake has started to appear. “Hi there.”

“Hi?”

He leans against the doorframe, his previous shocked expression having turned into an arrogant smile by now. “You know what, sister? Twenty bucks and I’ll give you two five more minutes.”

“I could - we could both have you  _ arrested _ !”


	12. with every step together, we just keep on getting better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _m y b r i l l i a n t w i f e_
> 
>  
> 
> (or, Jake has a new favorite word.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am very emotional so i wrote this in order to deal with those emotions.
> 
>  
> 
> title from my very best high school musical love song, can i have this dance, because lindsay named a fic after a hsm song and i was inspired.

“Jake, please. I know where the cake mix is.”

“But I  _ need _ to say it!” He pouts his lower lip at her, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on the cart. “Pretty please?”

They've barely left the house in two days. It shows in his jitteriness, the way he's distracted by everything from the low music playing through the store to how many different kinds of oil there are, and Amy's trying to restrain her grin as she watches him dance through the aisles, unbothered by the other customers.

She married that man two days ago. After a chaotic day of nicotine patches, ruined frosting cakes and shower curtain veils, she stood outside the 99th precinct and declared in front of Holt, her friends, a few beat cops and gawking New Yorkers that she is to love and cherish Jake Peralta for the rest of her life. 

(Or Jake Santiago, as he has repeatedly suggested she’ll call him.)

They're officially married, she's well at work on getting their money back through wedding insurance, and they're doing their first round of food shopping as spouses. An hectic week of work and wedding preparations followed by an amazing but disastrous wedding day followed by two days holed up in their apartment catching up on sleep, eating takeout and consummating their marriage, has rendered their fridge gapingly empty and their bodies in need of a change in surroundings, even if only for the grocery store. She has to admit she finds it exciting - walking these aisles with her  _ husband  _ has such a grown up, sophisticated sound to it - but still not nearly as exciting as said husband is finding it. 

 

“I just wanna say it once”, he argues, still looking at her with those pleading eyes.

“You’ve said it plenty of times during the last days”, she reminds him, placing another packet of Jake's sugary breakfast cereal in the cart. 

“During sex!” His words come out loud enough for a nearby shopper, probably in his late sixties, to narrow his eyes at them. ”I want to say it to someone else, too.”

“And you have to make me look stupid in order to do that?”

“I'm going to make it very clear you're not stupid, trust me.” He nods at her, the same assuring look in his eyes as when he told her he’d marry her any time, any place, and she can't bring herself to say no.

“Fine, you can say it.”

“Yes! You're the best!” He places a quick kiss to her forehead, then makes his way to the nearest store employee - a younger woman in a buzzcut hard at work shelving cans of vegetable soup - practically jumping with excitement. “Excuse me, ma’am, but my wife wondered where you keep the cake mix?”

The employee looks up at him. “Sorry. Could you repeat?”

“My wife - my brilliant, beautiful wife, she’s over there”, he points to Amy, “wondered where you keep the cake mix.”

 

_ Brilliant, beautiful wife. _

It’s a few words, none of which she is hearing for the first time, but strung together they're a symphony worthy of Carnegie Hall. She feels a pleasant buzz spread throughout her veins, like she’s tipsy without having consumed a single drop of alcohol, enamored and enfolded in an embrace of inestimable love. They're merely words, but they're spoken with so much certitude not even her odd self-critical thoughts have any choice but to trust him blindly. When he tells her she's brilliant she _feels_ brilliant.

The employee doesn't look over to where Amy is standing, but had she done so, she would have seen a woman smiling so wide it should with all probability physically hurt.

 

“Cake mix? Aisle seven.”

“Thank you! My wife will be so happy!” Ignoring the uninterested expression of the overworked employee, Jake bounces back to where Amy is standing, looking mighty proud of himself. 

“Happy?” She knows the answer before she asks. 

“So happy”, he confirms, hugging her waist and peppering light kisses to the back of her neck. “I love being married. I want to be married  _ forever _ .”

“I think that’s kind of the point, babe”, she tells him as she relaxes in his arms, for once without caring about her hesitant feelings regarding public displays of affection. Marriage must truly have done a number on her.

“So what did you think? Did you like the way it sounded?”

“I loved it”, she says with full honesty. “Please say it forever.”

“Oh, I will.” 

 

During the rest of their shopping round, Jake manages to tell a young girl how his wife thought said girl’s Harry Potter-scarf was awesome, ask yet another innocent employee about where he can find lemon tea for his wife, and inform the cashier that while he doesn’t have a rewards card himself, his wife does. 

It’s her new favorite sound in the world (and she makes sure to let him know this when they get home).

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _m y b r i l l i a n t w i f e_


	13. no one's got me quite like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy celebrate New Year's Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it felt only right to end my writing year off with what signified it; shameless, plotless, super cheesy fluff.  
> happy new year, loves! ten days 'til season six! ✨
> 
> title from animal by troye sivan.

Jake’s never met someone who gets cold quite like Amy Santiago. 

He’ll think of the weather as a tad chilly, perhaps calling for the warmer one of his leather jackets, and she’ll already be dressed in a warm coat complete with a self-knitted scarf, hat and mittens in matching burgundy yarn. He’ll find their bedroom the perfect temperature at night and she’ll bring an extra blanket to bed, still making sure to cuddle as close to him to steal as much warmth as she can manage. He’ll be bursting with excitement to go out and see the snow on their day off, she’ll take an hour and a lot of kisses to convince. 

It is safe to say they do not spend a lot of time outside together in the wintertime. Only for certain occasions, such as the odd romantic winter walk over the illuminated Brooklyn Bridge to count selfie stick-carrying tourists, will she accept the forty-degree weather she calls  _ absolutely freezing _ and give in to his attempts to make her go outside.

She’ll accept it for fireworks in the nearby park on New Year’s Eve, too. It took him the promise of toasting with homemade hot chocolate in their  _ Mr _ and  _ Mrs _ -mugs the minute they arrive home to finally win her over, plus a renewed promise of January first being reserved for relaxing in front of Harry Potter movies on the couch before going back to work on the second, but he succeeded and takes immense pride in the fact that he is now standing next to his wife on top of a frost-covered hill, waiting for the display of vibrant colors against a darkened night sky to begin.

 

“Fireworks are actually burning pieces of metal”, Amy informs him when they're counting down the minutes to the new year. He didn't ask, has never considered the structure of fireworks to be particularly vital information, but listening to Amy describe them makes it that much easier to listen. His wife could be talking about the most effective ways of dusting and he’d be all ears. “Different types of metal salts makes different colored flames, and small bits of iron or steel fillings create the sparkles.”

“Huh.” He nods. “And why do they explode?”

“Gunpowder. A fuse sets of a charge, igniting the powder and propelling the piece into the sky, where the gunpowder inside the firework ignites”, she explains. “Boom.” She mimics a mini explosion with her hands, lifting them together and then parting them.

“Boom”, he repeats, placing his arm around her shoulder and drawing her as close as possible with the layers of shirts, coats and scarves hindering him from getting closer. It feels mysteriously similar to what he imagines hugging a Michelin-guy would be like, only this Michelin-guy is about a billion times more attractive and abundantly adorable in all her bundled-up glory. Also, he would probably never allow a Michelin-guy to breathe cold air on his face and nuzzle his nose with their own like Amy is doing. That would be creepy. 

“Sorry about info-dumping on you. I’m trying to keep myself distracted”, she mutters. “From the cold you forced me out in. When can we go home, anyway?”

“Five minutes ‘til the new year, babe. Then we can leave.”

“Thank god.” She hugs her arms around his waist and he takes it as his cue to rub his hands along them to assist her with some of her longed-for warmth. “I love you and all, but I hate being outside in this weather when I  _ could’ve _ been inside.”

“I’ve become aware of that, funny enough.” 

“Shut up. This is all your fault.”

“Title of your sextape?”

Amy scrunches her nose. “Nah. You can do better. Title of your sextape”, she adds, jokingly tossing her hair. “Got you there. “

“You got me”, he agrees, tilting his head down to smooch the tip of her nose - it’s about the only body part of hers he can efficiently reach at this moment. “I’ll make you hot chocolate when we get home.”

“You better.” There’s a half threatening tone to her voice, but the way she accompanies the words with standing up on her toes and placing a kiss each to both his cheeks takes away most of the sternness. “Hah - I’m in the lead!”

“Not for long!” This time, he all but attacks what is not hidden beneath her hat and scarf, pressing his lips with more speed than grace to the space between her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, her cold-reddened cheeks and lastly her lips. “See - I win!”

“Real mature.” 

“Yeah, well, you love me.”

She chuckles. “I do. Doesn’t make you any less of a dork, though.”

 

It occurs to him for a transient moment how silly and ridiculous they must look to the surrounding audience. Two grown adults in their mid-thirties holding goofy kissing competitions like a pair of smitten teenagers are bound to get some eye-rolls, he presumes. All in all, public displays of affection are kept to a minimum with Amy, though ever since they got married there seems to be increased room for the odd chaste kiss or heart-eyed gaze. Right now, however, Jake can tell they’re being downright rom-com cheesy - probably enough so to annoy a few grouchy onlookers. 

He doesn’t care.

 

Last year was darkness, was trial and incarceration and continual attempts of returning to a normal life again once he and Rosa were freed, was the memories of death threats and uncomfortable bunk beds haunting him even in the otherwise most heavenly of moments. He and Amy had toasted in champagne at Charles’ New Year’s party, promising themselves a better 2018. 

They got one. This year for them has been reunions and goals achieved and failures faced together, has been promises given and rings exchanged, has been playfulness and rapture and the best distracting childish marriage; the only one he’s ever wanted. It’s held slow-paced mornings sleeping in and drinking coffee in bed, and it’s held rushed ones inhaling it on the way to the car because they may or may not have been close to making themselves late (in his defense, he has a really hot wife). It’s held cases worked, lunch breaks spent together, rounds at Shaw’s after work with their very best friends. It’s held grocery trips, lazy days, married sex and combining their finances, has held multitudinous instances of hearing Amy Santiago call him her husband and him calling her his wife.

2019 is unknown, a blank slate plain and simple. It’s a white wall unpainted and a cupboard of rainbow colors waiting to be used. It’s vague plans, facts such as knowing they’ll be working the same jobs and living in the same apartment, with the rest of the year open to what they make of it. There’s a guarded speculation in the back of his head of whether it will be the year their family grows bigger, if Amy will be pregnant by the end of next year or if it’s even possible he’ll spend the next New Year’s trying to soothe a sleeping newborn frightened by the loud noises outside.

 

He’s brought back to current reality when the fireworks go off. The earlier intermittent explosions turn constant, lighting up the winter sky in a polychromatic display surrounding them. All around, people are cheering and hugging and he’s kissing his wife, kissing her something soft and sweet and all for the tradition but also because there is no other thing he’d rather be doing.

“Happy new year, Ames”, he whispers when they part. 

“Happy new year”, she whispers back. “Now let’s go home before my toes have to be amputated.”

He rolls her eyes at her exaggeration, but grins and takes her hand anyway, making their way through the mass of people.

 

He’s equal shares frightened and excited by how little he knows about 2019, but the fear is forgotten when they stop for a moment to watch the fireworks a little while longer. He watches his wife observe the aflame metal bits with wide eyes and a sentimental smile, and he’s instantly and acutely aware that no matter what the year will bring, he’ll be facing it with his soulmate. 

He can’t wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️  
> overly long, overly emotional and personal end note coming up here.
> 
> so this is the last thing I'm publishing in 2018, obviously, because it's december 31st over here. I wrote more in 2018 than I've been doing since my Harry Potter-fic-writing days back in 2012/13, first to distract myself from a shitty period of mental health and then, as I started receiving appreciation and love from you guys, because I found it was making me happy. I've been writing pretty much non-stop since april, written my way through my life getting so much better, written my way through surviving the hiatus, written my way to new friends and regained confidence and a returned passion for the thing I love most.
> 
> it's turned into over 100k words worth of fanfiction this year alone. that's insane, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit proud of it. but honestly, none of it would matter if it wasn't for all the love you guys have given me. so whether you've left kudos once or a thousand times, whether you've left a one-worded comment or several long essays, whether you've never made any noise or if you've talked to me personally on tumblr; THANK YOU. you helped make my year so much better. thank you for helping me through the hard days and inadvertently punching my brain ghosts in the face by proving them wrong when they yell that no one cares about me or what I do. I mean it when I say that I love you all.
> 
> thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so much, you're my dream readers.  
> see you in 2019!


	14. i will find any way to your wild heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy are on their way home from their honeymoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first update of the new year! enjoy some plotless post-honeymoon fluff, partly inspired by the fact that i was recently out flying and partly inspired by all my emotions over these two dorks. ❤️   
> title from wild heart by bleachers.

The airport is sleepy already when they arrive three hours before their 5.30 a.m. flight - type A vacation planning style - back to New York. A minor downside to Holt booking their flight home is the man’s affinity for getting things done early in the morning to maximize productivity, a philosophy which has them checking in and dropping off their bags with a dozy airport employee in the middle of the night. The ungodly hour is not made any better by their shared overpowering lack of sleep, having wanted to end their honeymoon in style and give the Holly and Melvil-costumes one last run for now, and so their walk over clean-swept airport floors past closed stores and vending machines is languid, their bodies and heads equally enervated. Jake closes his eyes soon as they’ve sat down on the stiff couches at their gate and Amy’s quick to follow. 

 

She can’t quite make herself fall asleep, though. Jake drifts off near instantaneously, yawning wide and accepting her offer to rest his head on her thighs while curling up on several empty seats, but sleep stays out of reach for her even as she hears his breathing slow into the peaceful pace she’s grown accustomed to using as her version of white noise. When he’s sleeping soundly, no post-traumatic nightmares or insomnia keeping him up anymore, she relaxes. It’s yet another point on the lengthy list of acts which became everyday routine after he got out of prison.

Barely a year ago, that’s where he was, sharing a cell with a cannibal while she worked tirelessly with the rest of the Nine-Nine to get him and Rosa home. She spent too much money and environmental resources on flights to South Carolina, relied on Terry’s and Holt’s reminders to make sure she ate if only a sandwich and slept if only a couple of hours, and fell asleep hugging an old unwashed sweater of his when she did. He was hours or minutes from dying; she feared each call would be Captain Holt informing her of her boyfriend’s passing away. 

One year later, they’re on their way home from their Mexico honeymoon. After Holt’s departure, the week they did get to themselves was filled with new attempts at the scheduled sensual activities, some successes (the massage was really something) and some less so (they could  _ not  _ make themselves take the sensual pottery seriously), of several times dressing up in a Holly Gennaro outfit just for Jake’s unmatched reaction each time and of effortless and undemanding time spent together in the presence of sun, room service and a seemingly unlimited supply of coconuts. It’s been their own little version of paradise and she’s never wanted to leave.

 

On the other hand, leaving it to go back to New York is all she wants. Finally returning home indefinitely, settling back into their routine of work and joined breakfasts and nights parked in front of Jeopardy on the TV, they’ll be an engaged couple planning a wedding no more and instead happily married spouses. Amy Santiago has not been someone’s wife for more than two weeks of her life thus far, but her excitement for the rest of it is exploding like these exuberant fireworks inside her chest.

 

She feels her husband - she’ll never grow tired of that word - stir, making her shift focus from gazing emptily at a piece of abstract art on the wall across from her to looking at him. He presses both of his hands against his face as if to protect his eyes from the fluorescent airport lightning, then lifts them and twists the wedding ring on his finger once before looking up at her. His expression is drowsy, he’s squinting at her and his curls are even more of a whirly mess than usual, and he’s indubitably and incontestably the very best thing in her life.

“Slept well?” Amy whispers the question. “You were out for maybe thirty minutes, at least.”

“Never better”, he jokes. “I miss our hotel bed.”

“Oh god, same.” She considers mentioning all the stupid good sex the hotel bed saw during their stay, but decides scarring the family with three young kids sitting a few feet away from them would be an unnecessary ending to their vacation. “At least we get to be reunited with our own soon.”

“Aww, I bet it’s missed us.”

“Sure”, she grins, twirling the stubborn curl near his forehead round her index finger and then letting go. “I’m just happy to be going home with you.”

“Cheesy. But ditto.”

“You’ve taken to calling me  _ honey _ , you’re not one to complain about my cheesiness.”

He smiles, joining their wedding ring-bearing hands together. “Wasn’t complaining.”

“Thought so.”

“I am going to miss the coconuts, though.”

She grimaces. “I might have ordered a few cups and bowls from Amazon while we were in the Uber.”

He lights up, gaping with enthusiasm at her. “Best. Wife. Ever.”

“Duh.”

“No, but seriously.” He sits up jerkily, allowing her to lean into his shoulder and neck, breathing in the scent of the resort’s vanilla body soap. “I think we’re the best couple at being married like, ever. We’re  _ so  _ good at it.”

“I mean, we’ve only done it for a couple weeks.”

“I know, and we’re already this good at it! Imagine how amazing we’re going to be in a month”, he muses, pressing a few tickling kisses to her neck. “Or a year. Or three years. Ten. We're going to be the best married couple out there, Ames.”

 

She’s about to answer when the speaker voice announces their plane is now letting passengers board. Hurrying to grab her handbag and his backpack and take their places in the steadily growing line, she lets herself think about what he's said, imagines them celebrating their tenth and twentieth wedding anniversary. It seems oceans away, inevitably making her nervous about what situation their world will be in year 2038, but at the same time making her excited to see where  _ they _ will be.

“We really are going to be the best”, she agrees, linking her free hand with his. “I can't wait.”

He grins. “Me neither.”

“Want to go home and be married there, Mr. Santiago?”

“Nothing I’d like more, Mrs. Peralta.”

 

They’re the annoying couple kissing in the line to show their passports and scan their boarding cards at 05 in the morning. Part of Amy hates herself for it, but part of her is too happy they got here to even care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the s5 premiere, jake and amy were separated and jake was in prison. in the s6 premiere, they're married and on their honeymoon. i'm so damn happy for them.


	15. i love the light in your eyes and the dark in your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy come home from the reunion, and Jake realizes he might not be as over something as he'd previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some post 6x03-hurt/comfort for you because... yeah. there's a reason jake was so affected by that wrongful accusation. 
> 
> title from valentine by 5sos because i cannot stop listening to their live album oops

The adrenaline from running from a furious vice principal, apparently not a fan of spouses of the high school’s alumni breaking into the school library to write stellar book reports of  _ Jane Eyre _ , has barely left her body by the time they return home. Seriously - that book report could have earned her a sweet, sweet A+ and served as a lesson example of the perfect book report - and he  _ threw it in the trash _ .

 

“I still can't believe it”, she scoffs, ditching her backpack and marching to the fridge to get them each a glass of orange soda. “I wasn't doing anyone any harm! They could all have learnt something from that report, honestly.”

“I mean, babe, you did break a window.” 

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “I got too excited.”

He grins and lifts himself onto the counter. “You were too amped up about admin, I know.”

“I was right to! Those attendance records?” Amy climbs up to sit next to him, whispering the next words into his ear. “Totally hot.”

“Sure.” He doesn't quite want to take the compliment, she can tell from his blushing, but he puts an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her hand anyway. 

She runs her thumb over his wedding band, watching him while he stares blankly ahead. His eyes focus on a picture from their wedding, taken by Rosa shortly after the ceremony and featuring the two of them looking at each other partly in shock and partly in awe over what just happened. It’s one of their favorite candids from the chaotic day. She can see Jake’s heart-eyes in them, that stupid wide grin on his lips, and she can see her own tear-filled smile watching him like he’s all that matters in the world. It’s a picture which never fails to make them smile.

But Jake’s expression is vacant, which puzzles her. He’s barely touched the orange soda. His legs are completely still, he’s not humming along to the upbeat pop song playing at a low volume on the radio he forgot to turn off before leaving, and when she squeezes his hand again it is with minimal effort he squeezes back. 

When they first started dating, she wouldn’t have noticed all of the details like these, even less been able to decode them. After three years of dating and two blissful months of marriage, it’s easier. This is something other than his usual one a.m.-tiredness and his deep in thought-concentration. She can’t pinpoint what, but it’s  _ something _ . 

 

“Jake, is something up?”

His body jerks. “Huh?”

“You look like you’re thinking about something that bothers you.” She bites her lip. “Is it about the Gina-thing? We can talk about it if you want.”

“It’s not Gina”, he says, moving his glass back and forth so the liquid in it sways. “I mean, that makes me sad too, but it’s not about Gina.”

“Then what is it?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. It’s silly.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“How?”

Amy frowns. “Because you’re my husband and I care about you? Come on, you can tell me what’s going on. I want to help”, she adds, making her voice as soft and undemanding as possible despite itching to know what is wrong so she can  _ fix, fix, fix _ . 

Jake sighs, then looks at her for a hot second before staring at a mysterious stain - it’s either pasta sauce, blood or marker - on the kitchen cupboard next to him.  “Why do you think everyone believed I was the tattler?”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t do it”, he mumbles. “But everyone believed I did. Or at the very least, the people that mattered. They decided I was guilty and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“You were wrongfully accused”, she whispers, and the puzzle pieces fall into place.

 

She remembers the blinding, petrifying fear in his eyes at the first hearing, the tears wetting her carefully ironed shirt as they got bail and it became clear they would at least be given the chance to fight. She remembers their trip to Horseditch, Pennsylvania, the pain of hearing him say  _ I guess now we actually have to talk about what happens if the jury finds me guilty _ and knowing it could happen. She remembers hugging him during visitation, not being able to enjoy the mustache he finally managed to grow because all she could think about was how he’d gotten thinner and there was a mysterious scratch on his upper arm he refused to talk about. She remembers facing the realization he might never come home and she remembers the nightmares which haunted him when he did.

 

He doesn’t tell her yes or no, but his apathy is all the confirmation Amy needs. The words won’t quite find her, so she lets go of his hand and hugs him tight instead, drawing calming circles on the back of his neck with her index fingers. He shakes like he’s holding back a sob, snivels, then starts to relax in her arms.

They sit like that for a minute. She’s analyzing his breathing without realizing she’s doing so, measuring the time between each inhale and exhale and feeling the sensation of relief flooding over her when they’re getting longer apart, his breath regulating slowly but surely.

“It’s not like that anymore”, she tells him when the words find her again. “You’re okay now. We got you out. Everything’s fine.”

“I feel ridiculous”, he admits. There’s a heaviness to his voice she’s not missed for a second since the last time he woke her up in the middle of the night, having a panic attack from a bad dream and later recounting it to her when the attack calmed down. “It’s just a stupid high school story. I’m connecting it to things I don’t need to.”

“You’re not ridiculous, you went through a trauma. There’s a difference.” 

“Still. That story was twenty years ago.”

“And it being brought up reminded you of something you went through which was deeply traumatic for you”, she declares matter-of-factly. “Jake - it happens. It’s bound to happen.”

“It sucks”, he whispers. “It really, really sucks.”

“Yeah. But you’re okay.” She kisses his forehead, leaving smears of dark red lipstick near his hairline. “We’re okay.”

He shakes his head again, but this time a smile accompanies it. “Have I told you you’re the best wife in the world?”

“I feel like I might have heard a similar thing in that admin room earlier”, she teases. “But hearing it an extra time never hurts.”

“Mm, pretty sure most of the compliments in that admin room were more directed towards me for helping you fulfil your lifelong dream of having sex in the, quote unquote, coolest room in the school.” 

Amy’s about to protest, but he’s right, so she leaves it be and suggest they go to bed instead.

 

She lets him be little spoon that night, tangling their legs together and scratching his back until she can tell he’s fallen asleep.

Recovering from what happened is a never-ending process for them both, but at least they get to do it together. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written kind of quickly in one evening eheh, and i kind of feel like it's the same thing i've already written a billion times, but i hope you enjoyed it still ❤︎


	16. everything goes quiet when it's you i'm with

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set during 6x06, "the crime scene".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a little while since i updated this collection so here is a lil smidge of plotless everyday married fluff to make you soft. title from quiet by jason mraz.

He stumbles through the door hours later than his average time for returning home, still huffing in frustration over how he, despite staying far too late at the precinct to try and get somewhere on the dope but grueling case he’s working with Rosa, is nowhere closer to solving it than he was yesterday. If anything, he’s further away, having been helped in no way, shape or form by the delivery guy’s fruitless attempts at describing their killer. Jake’s life _sucks_ . It’s not made better by the fact that Amy has an extra early shift tomorrow, and it's been nearly two hours since she texted him the _goodnight kisses_ -bitmoji and an encouragement to be quiet when he got home.

 

Work has kept him from seeing her much these last days. It’s nowhere near a new occurrence - they’ve been dealing with this specific hinder ever since Amy made sergeant and they began to work fewer cases together - but being used to it doesn’t make it hurt less.

Even with the silver ring present on his finger as a treasured reminder of her, despite the texts they exchange through the workday to check up on each other, he’s a little less himself the longer he goes without her arms hugging him, her pressing a kiss to his cheek and asking how his day was.

 

He leaves shoes and leather jacket by the door, sneaking past the dark kitchen through the hallway and into the bedroom. Amy would probably yell at him for skipping his one-minute routine of splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth, but he’s exhausted and when it comes to habits concerning his health, he still keeps some secrets from his well-meaning but a tad overprotective wife.

He’s never known how to explain it, doubts he ever will, but even though all he sees of her is a mess of dark hair spread out around her face on the pillow and the shape of her body curled up under the comforter, facing his side of the bed, seeing her there makes his heart feel lighter.

 

Jake rids himself of flannel, t-shirt and jeans with as much speed and efficiency he can manage while staying as quiet as possible, and then he’s finally crawling down underneath the covers, enveloped in the satisfying warmth of a bed already heated up. Amy flinches when the mattress shifts, but as he moves closer in their modest-sized bed, placing his arms around her waist and pecking a few kisses to the exposed part of her shoulder and collarbone, her mouth shifts into a small smile. He presses a kiss to that, too, for good measure.

“Hey”, she murmurs, either not fully asleep yet or just woken up. “How’d it go with Rosa?”

“Nothing new.”

“Sorry to hear that.” She lifts a hand, runs it through his tousled curls, knuckles caressing his temple. “You’re going to find something.”

“I hope so”, he agrees, yawning. “Maybe tomorrow. When do you have to get up?”  
  
“Six.”

“Wake me.”

He’s blind in the darkness, yet he can feel her eyes narrow. “You sure about that, babe?”

“Yeah. I’ll get up, have breakfast with you, be at work early. Since we barely saw each other today, you know.”

“I’d love that”, she whispers. “Goodnight, Jake.”  
  
“Night, Ames.”

 

He’s worn-out, desperately longing for the weekend still two eternal days away, and he’s not an inch closer to solving the case than he was yesterday, but at least he’s home. Amy drapes an arm across his chest, a comforting weight to ground him, and with the sound of her breathing in his ears and the vague scent of peppermint shampoo reminding him further of her presence, he relaxes.

As long as she's there next to him, he’s convinced it’s all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other people watching non-peraltiago storylines: ooh! interesting!  
> me watching non-peraltiago storylines: and after this.. jake gets to go home to his WIFE... 
> 
> kidding. i love every plot, but also, i do think a lot about the wonderful fact that these two are married. love that for them. love that for me.
> 
> (also, i literally wrote this little piece in my notebook during the last part of my writing lesson and in-between other lessons today so forgive me if it's a little bit hasty)


	17. when the long drive's over (i will wander in silence with you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy, the morning after coming home from Florida.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from the wonderful song nothing is u by bleachers.

Amy wakes up early the morning after they come home from Florida.

Too early, considering how late they got home from the airport yesterday. She had to help her boyfriend up the stairs to her apartment, his pace on the crutches painfully slow, and when they finally reached her apartment door, it took only minutes before he was passed out in bed.

She’s made a firm habit of always starting to unpack her bags the moment she comes home after a trip. Yesterday, for the first time, she broke it.

 

Six months and a week she lived without him. Six months and now they’re over, Figgis is in jail and Amy Santiago’s officially pissed off a captain for the first time in her life but she couldn’t care less because _Jake is home_.

Her dorky adorable, stupid attractive even in the frosted tips that make her feel like she’s kissing Vanilla Ice, loving, empathic boyfriend who hates drinking water with a passion and has the ability to turn just about anything into either a sextape joke or Die Hard reference, is home and sleeping soundly under her comforter. He’s wearing one of the t-shirts he left at her place she could never bring herself to put away, his injured leg is resting on a stack of decorative pillows, and it’s way too early to be awake but she doesn’t want to close her eyes from the sight of him. Comfortable warmth emanates from his body next to hers, heating up the bed to the perfect temperature not even her effective heating blanket could replace the months she slept without him, and sure, there’s a lot less space for her now than there’s been in a long time but she doesn’t mind. She had enough nights with plenty of space to spread out. Now, she wants to enclose this feeling, keep it from slipping out and ever leaving. She wants to lay like this, nose buried in the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around his torso, forever.

 

Amy thought she knew what it’s like to miss a person. She was even more sure of this after the six months her partner worked undercover with the FBI right after he’d told her _I kind of wish something could happen between us, romantic-stylez_. It had been her first time becoming aware of a feeling of longing so intense it had caused her to feel like a part of her soul was missing each time she looked up at the empty desk opposite her, and she wasn’t even in love with him then. This time, losing him after almost a year of blissful dating, felt like part of her body had been amputated and piece of her heart cut out, leaving behind a phantom pain that stung each time it woke her at night, hurt for each meaningless phone notification that wasn’t a text from him and ached for every day without him she lived to see.

 

“He’s okay”, Marshal Haas promised each time she arrived at the precinct to brief them on Figgis and Amy practically attacked the woman with questions about Jake, how he was doing, when he was coming home. “That’s all I can tell you.”

Amy never learned to trust those words.

 

She trusts them now. Physically, she supposes her boyfriend is _less_ okay than usual, gunshot wound to his thigh and all that, but he’s here and drowsy on pain medication and when she presses soft kisses along his jawline, letting them trail down to his chest, he makes this noise which sounds mysteriously similar to an oversized kitten purring.

She moves her head lower so she can listen to his heartbeat. It’s even, rhythmic, helping her own breathing slow to a healthy and unperturbed tempo.

 

In her thoughts, Figgis will never be exculpated from his deeds of keeping her and Jake apart for this long. Yet in this very moment, her anger is alleviated, a mere detail in the back of her head thanks to her boyfriend’s presence.

For the first time in six months, Amy’s not angry anymore.

 

Jake stirs next to her, wincing at what is probably an instinctive attempt to move his injured leg, and she reaches over him to grab the little orange plastic jar and glass of water. He swallows the medicine with eyes still closed, falling back against the pillows once he’s done so and placing his arms around her. God, she’s missed those arms - not to talk about the hands, trailing under her sleepshirt to draw circles on her back.

“Morning”, he mumbles, voice a little gravelly. “Is it early?”

“Kind of.”

“Huh.” He yawns. “You have to go to work?”

“I have today off.”

“I like the sound of that”, he smiles, pecking her cheek. “Day off means we can stay in bed, you and me, all day.”

“Well”, she muses. “We’re going to have to go out for food at some point. And I have to unpack my bag.”

“Nah.” Jake shakes his head. “We can eat in bed. And your bag can wait. I’ve waited six months to see you - that makes me one hell of a lot more important than some old bag. Plus, you shot me, so…” He raises an eyebrow, and she budges.

“Fine, fine, I owe you one. But I also saved your life”, she reminds him, placing a finger to his chest. “So there’s that.”

“You did, you did.” He grins - she’s missed that grin so much, more than words can convey - and then nods, dreamy look in his eyes. “It was _awesome_.”

“Hope you enjoyed it, cause I’m not planning on it ever happening again.”

“Don’t worry, Santiago.” They’re so close, all torturous distance of the last six months erased, and his lips brush against hers for just a second. “If I could only have one person shoot me in the leg for the rest of my life, I’d choose you.”

 

She’s always hated the description, always found it too cheesy and unrealistic in comparison to everyday romance, but when they kiss, she can’t tell who initiates it. All she knows is how natural it feels, the initial awkwardness from their reunion replaced by familiarity and newfound excitement at the same time, a feeling of coming home after a long trip.

It’s also just a kiss, so much like all the others shared these last days, lips meeting each other and his lower lip caught between hers, drawing out a discrete moan from his throat when she gives it a little bite. His tongue sweeps over her teeth, lightly probing, and with his hands tangled in her hair and hers moving under his shirt, kissing becomes full on making out and there’s probably a little bit of morning breath involved for both of them and she’s resting half of her weight on his good leg and half on the mattress but she’s still missed this, more than she realized.

 

It's only when she feels him against her leg and he draws back a little that she notices how she's practically started grinding against him by pure reflex and desperation - it _has_ been over six months.

“We should probably, uhm, pause”, Jake establishes with a bit of a groan. “Sorry, it's just.. it’s been a while.”

“No, yeah, I know.” She's blushing, heat pooling both in her cheeks and stomach. “At least two weeks before light, non-strenuous sex, I remember.”

“Damn you for shooting me, Ames”, he huffs. “Not fair.”

“Hey, I saved your life! Two weeks is a fair deal better than _eternity_. Dumbass.”

“Aww.” He grins again. “I’ve missed you calling me a dumbass.”

“Get used to it”, she tells him, kissing his cheek one last time before laying down next to him. His arm snakes around her, drawing her impossibly closer, and yeah, she’s missed this, too.

 

“We should talk about moving in together”, he mumbles in her ear, and she nods.

“This apartment has plenty of space for you, you can move in whenever.”

“Are you kidding?” Jake is giving her a look like she just suggested they’d move to Iceland. “We’re moving into my apartment!”

“Your apartment is a messy one-bedroom! Where would all my stuff go?” She protests indignantly, but he just waves a hand.

“You’d find a way. Mine’s in a much cooler neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, with a _drug dealer_ that hangs out outside your stoop on a routine basis”, she quips back.

“Dave’s not a drug dealer!”

“Pretty sure the man who once by accident introduced himself to me as ‘Drug Dealer Dave’ is, in fact, a drug dealer.”

“I’m sure he was just kidding.”

“ _Jake_.”

“Fine, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “He's into some shady business, but he's really nice. He fixed my heater for me once!”

“Your heater breaks at least once a month.”

“Whatever.” Jake shakes his head. “You know what, we’ll postpone this conversation. Point is we're moving in together.”

“We are”, she agrees, reaching for his hand and linking their fingers together, pressing a kiss to them. “And you're never leaving me again.”

“Never again if I can help it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise”, he murmurs, and based upon how his eyes start falling, she figures the drowsiness from the pain medication must be kicking in.

“You sleep some more”, she tells him, chaste kiss to his lips before drawing back, sitting up in bed. “And I go get us bagels from your favorite place.”

He opens one eye. “Breakfast in bed?”

She hesitates, thinking about the crumbs and risks of cream cheese stains on sheets, but gives in. “Yeah, today we can have breakfast in bed.”

 

She keeps her word, serving him takeaway coffee and the extra-topping pizza bagel she knows to be his favorite. The smile she gets when Jake sees her with the paper bag almost weighs up for the crumbs on her comforter. The entire day of cuddling in bed, watching Netflix and avoiding moving a limb more than necessary, definitely does.

Her bag doesn't get unpacked until evening.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all..  
> 500 kudos??? guys. guys. THANK YOU. that's insane. woah. i love you all so very much you're too nice.
> 
> second, i realised a while ago i've never really written post-florida fluff and then this was just kind of written in one day without me really knowing where it was going except.. fluff. i think one reason to why i don't write a lot of post-florida is because they do get separated again and that's just painful to think about.
> 
> hope you enjoyed, my loves ❤︎


	18. moving through this world as a two-man team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 6x08, "He Said, She Said". After solving the case, both Jake and Amy have things they need to talk through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also known as: johanna has slept two hours and is trying her best to cope.
> 
> title from you & me by james tw, which is a very lovely and very peraltiago song i highly recommend.
> 
> also, i am not sure how clear this is, but i imagine this to be the night after amy and rosa take the co-worker's statement. i haven't been able to rewatch the episode, but from what i can recall, there was a night in between jake finding amy in the break room and the episode ending.

“Were you scared?”

They've just finished dinner - celebratory takeout Jake argued they deserved after the day’s achievements - and when he first asks the question, she cannot figure out what he's referring to.

“Of what?” Amy rinses the plate she's holding, handing it over to him for drying.

“When you transferred to the Nine-Nine”, he explains, his tone oddly quiet. “Weren't you scared the same thing was going to happen again? With the 6-4 captain?”

“Oh.” After the discussions they’ve had while working this case, she supposes she shouldn't be surprised by him asking, but her mouth goes dry anyway when she thinks back to that night, realising she still remembers the taste of blood in her mouth after how fast she ran back to the precinct.

Nine long years ago, but she could swear it feels like yesterday.

“Yeah”, she admits. “I was.”

He rubs at the plate with the polka-dotted dish towel, inspecting a spot where a tiny piece of the porcelain has chipped away over time. “How come you did it anyway?”

“Well, I didn't feel like I could stay at the 6-4, either. I had to at least take the chance.” She bites her lip. “That's kind of what I was trying to explain earlier, you know? It's  _ always  _ like that for women. It's always a risk.”

“I'm starting to get that now”, he mumbles. “God, Ames - I'm so sorry.”

“It's really not your fault, Jake.”

“I know. I just… I want to be better.”

The glass she’s cleaning is spotless, yet she rinses it off another time under the scalding water before handing it to him, squeezing his wrist in an attempt to make some of the anguish in his eyes go away. It remains, a heaviness to the light brown eyes when they meet hers, and she waits for him to put down the glass before she stands on the tip of her toes to chastely kiss him.

“You are better, okay? I don’t know a lot of guys who would’ve spent a sleepless night watching feminist documentaries.” The thought of him doing that still warms her heart, though she does wish he’d woken her up so she could have watched it with him. 

He grimaces, scrunching his nose. “I keep thinking. Like, you know, I used to tease the crap out of you with your pantsuits and make sextape jokes and whatnot - did that ever make you uncomfortable?”

“It mostly made me more motivated to tease you back and solve more cases”, she reveals with a confident smirk. “There’s a thin line between simply annoying and downright inappropriate, if you ask me. But you were always really good at being annoying.” He blushes, looking away for a moment. She places two fingers to his left cheek so he’s looking at her again. “So, no, babe. Not that I can remember.”

“Always really good at being annoying, title of your sextape?”

“Not your best.”

He rolls his eyes. “Damn it.” 

 

Amy can’t tell if the conversation is over or if he has more to say, but there’s a contemplating expression left on his face as he hugs her, the seriousness and focus she associates with seeing him hard at work at a mentally arduous case, trying to piece together abstruse or non-existent leads. She opts for staying quiet, burying her face in his flannel and her hands in the pockets of the Gina-hoodie he’s taken to wearing at home. He smells a tiny bit of grapefruit body wash - he must have run out of his own and stolen hers again, which she should probably complain about seeing how often it happens, but she has to admit she finds it a little sweet.

“What I really think broke my heart”, he says just as she’s convinced the conversation is over, startling her, “was when you said you didn’t think you deserved your promotion. That’s craziness, Ames.” 

“Well”, she huffs, defensive upon his choice of words. “I couldn’t know. Not really.”

“I get it.” His hands brush through her hair, rubbing circles at her tense shoulder blades. “Or, I obviously don’t  _ get it _ get it, but I think I understand why. And I get why you studied like a maniac for the sergeant’s exam now.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t exaggerating that day on the roof. So you know. I really have always known you were going to be my boss.”

 

She wants to say something good - give a quick, witty reply like  _ duh, of course you did,   _ or nonchalantly roll her eyes at his infinite support for her and then kiss him long and hard to show exactly how much it means - but the words refuse to come out and she opens her mouth only to close it again.

She’s in disbelief over how perfect her husband has been these last few days, never belittling her nor calling what happened her fault, trying his best to understand and to educate himself more on a matter he could have shrugged his shoulders and run away from. Through it all he’s been there for her, understood her needs before she’s spoken them out loud, whether it’s been a comb and coffee or a familiar hand squeezing hers at the right moment. His feminist views are not new to her, but he keeps impressing her with how firmly he stands by them. 

She keeps wondering how she got so lucky. 

 

A tear trails down her cheek, though not one of sadness this time, and he’s wiping it away with the pad of his thumb before she has the time to react. 

“You okay?” His voice is filled with concern, and she nods, blinking at him with teary eyes. “Want to go watch another feminist documentary on the couch with me before we go to bed?”

She smiles at him. “I would love that.”

 

The built-up exhaustion hits her full force as they’re watching, and at only a few minutes in, she shifts from having her head leaned against his shoulder to lying down with her head in his lap. He plays with her hair, gets it stuck in his wedding ring at one point, and she closes her eyes to feel the world starting to sway without letting her fall asleep fully.

“I really can’t believe how much I love you sometimes”, she mumbles at one point after he’s asked a question related to the documentary and she’s tried her best to answer. 

“Aw, cheeseball.” He grins. “It’s true, I am very lovable. And I love you more.”

“I doubt that.”

“Okay, then how about this - would you still love me if I gave my genitals nicknames from a children’s TV show?”

“Actually, that would probably be the one thing which could make me divorce you straight away.”

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! ❤︎ alternatively, tell me to go the fuck to bed.
> 
> i genuinely truly believe he said, she said was one of the best episodes b99 has ever made. so impressed.


	19. with you, i am prepared for what is yet to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post 6x12-casecation. amy and jake talk things through the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've answered so many asks on tumblr about my opinions on this episode and i genuinely think everything that was said in the episode makes sense so here's my take on it but in fic, enjoy.
> 
> major thanks to amysantiagoisfone for super valuable editing advice on this!
> 
> title from the one by kodaline.

Jake wakes up after her the next morning. 

Admittedly, he wakes up after Amy most mornings, and finds the blessed minutes they can spend talking and cuddling while half-awake in the morning to be the best imaginable start of the day. 

 

Only this morning, Amy’s not in bed next to him, and for a fugacious moment, there’s a judgemental voice in his head asking  _ what if she left _ .

What if she  _ did _ decide to start over, despite their argument ending in mutual agreement? What if he dreamed the end of their evening, with thai-food and Property Brothers, baby names and stupid good sex?

 

He reaches out a hand and draws a breath of relief when he finds her side of the mattress still warm under the straightened half of the comforter. His heartbeat finally slows to a healthy bpm when he hears the sound of someone moving in the kitchen, closing a cabinet, turning on the water tap. She’s humming something upbeat, something resembling his innovative casecation-melody of yesterday, and he can feel the smell of coffee.

Not finding the point of staying in bed when his gorgeous, brilliant wife is up and about making coffee for them, he throws the comforter aside and puts on yesterday’s navy hoodie over his t-shirt before making his way out to the kitchen.

 

She’s there, because of course she is, despite what tricks the hateful voice in his head attempts, and he swears his heart is lighter the moment he sees her. She’s stolen his flannel from yesterday over a low-cut black tank-top and grey pajama shorts, and it’s just as adorable as it’s distractingly attractive. If they weren’t already married, he’d propose to her all over again in this moment.

“Nice flannel”, he remarks. “You look cute.”

“Borrowed it from the best. You’ll get it back.”

“Eh. It looks hotter on you anyway.”

Amy snorts, but she’s grinning. “Sorry I didn’t wait for you to wake up. You seemed exhausted, and I had too much energy, so I thought I’d get a start on breakfast. Coffee, at least.”

“It’s okay.” He makes an uncomfortable grimace. “I mean, there was a moment where I thought maybe you  _ had _ left for good, but - that’s just in my head, right?”

She frowns, confused. “Of course that’s just in your head - why’d you even think I would leave?”

“Because of what you said yesterday. About starting over.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry”, she whispers, biting her lip. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.” 

He fidgets with his hands before speaking, hiding them in the pockets of his hoodie as he looks down at the floor, then up to meet her eyes. She’s watching him, her head tilted slightly to the side and her lips pursed. Her attentiveness manages to make the words feel yet more terrifying, but somehow, he manages them. 

“I just don’t want to lose you. Ever. And hearing you say it, even if you didn’t mean it - I hated it. Because losing you is my worst nightmare.”

“It’s my worst nightmare, too. Florida, prison…” Amy shakes her head. “I never want to experience any of that again. Not in a million years.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

 

She doesn’t give him an immediate answer. Rather, she takes a few steps back, watching as the pot fills with the steaming hot, black coffee she’ll pour milk in while Jake will douse his with sugar.

“I just needed you to understand. I’d never _want_ to leave you, but I do want to have kids and I don’t have forever, you know? You don’t have a biological clock to consider, I do.” The machine beeps, signaling their coffee is ready, and he watches as she takes out the well-used matching Mr and Mrs-mugs and pours it into them. 

“I’d never want to leave you”, she says, looking at him again. “But if you never wanted kids and I did, that’d be an irreconcilable difference. I wouldn't have been happy. You wouldn't have been happy. I don't want that for us.” Amy sighs. “That's why I said it. It was stupid and emotional, and you have to understand it's my literal nightmare. I was taken aback.”

Jake nods, trying to make what she's saying sink in, use her rational arguments to choke the indefatigable narrative his abandonment issues are presenting in the back of his head.

“I get it”, he says, because the part of his brain that's devoted to logical thinking does, and he figures that's what counts. “We really should have talked about it before.”

“We really should have.” She hands him the coffee cup with both milk and sugar, and he accepts it with a grateful smile. “I'm sorry I never properly brought it up. I kind of… assumed, I guess.”

“It's okay.”

“No.” She shakes her head, apologetic smile on her lips. “It's not, really. I'm sorry about not bringing it up for real.”

“Same here.”

 

Neither of them says anything for a while, letting the first sips of hot coffee come before further conversation. Amy sits up on the counter, flicking through the day's mail to see if there's anything other than a few flyers and the newspaper with its crossword, and hands him a two week early birthday card from his aunt Linda with squiggly handwriting on it. 

“You were just always so happy around kids”, his wife explains, talking to him while he reads and puts away the card. “Terry’s daughters, Nikolaj, Iggy. My nieces and nephews. You love them, and I guess I just figured you wanted your own, someday.”

 

He thinks of babysitting and reading stories to Ava, of chasing Nikolaj through the playground when they babysat him for a full weekend, of holding weeks-old Iggy as she grabbed on tight to his pinkie and fell asleep. He does love kids, and he’d be lying to say he’s  _ never  _ pictured what it’d be like to have them with Amy, because he has - but he’s also terrified beyond compare. 

Loving a kid means wanting them to have a good childhood. Jake knows too well what the lack of one can entail.

 

“I do love them”, he tells her, seeing her gaze soften and smile form. “But, you know, they’re not mine. I can’t permanently ruin them or scar them too bad. Because that’s what I’m scared of. I’m scared I’ll have kids, and love them, but still never be good enough.”

“I get it.”

He shakes his head. “Do you, though?”

“Of course I do. I mean, I’ve always wanted kids, and even I’m scared of a billion things. You know what it’s like to have a crappy father”, she says, reaching for his hand and linking it with hers, “it makes total sense for you to be scared of being one. But I don’t think you will.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, how certain are you that I’d be a good mom?”

 

Jake considers it for a while, recalling images of Amy teaching the Jeffords twins facts about feminism, of her barely wanting to let go of Iggy even when the baby puked all over her nice blouse, and of how much her nieces and nephews seem to genuinely love their Tía Amy. There’s no doubt anywhere in his mind of it; she’d be incredible.

“So certain”, he admits with complete honesty, and she blushes.

“You see - that’s how sure I am you’d be an amazing dad. You’d never ‘ruin’ your kid. You wanna know how I know?”

He nods, and she jumps down from the counter, holding both of his hands and taking a step closer so she’s directly in front of him, demanding all of his focus. 

“Because you’re the most wonderful, loving, kind-hearted person I know. I don’t even think you’re  _ capable _ of ruining someone. If anything, you make people better. You made  _ me _ better.”

 

He doesn’t say anything - can’t say anything, can’t make himself do anything but take her into his arms, hugging her close. He rubs her back to comfort her, feeling the last remaining tension from yesterday’s discussion melt away into nothingness. 

“You make me better”, he whispers in her ear. “I love you. And, you know - I do love kids. I guess I just never allowed myself to want them. Because it’s terrifying.”

“It is terrifying, and you don’t even have to be pregnant or give birth.” Amy laughs. “But we’ve done so much scarier stuff.”

“We’re a good team”, he agrees. “If I’d raise kids with anyone, it’d be you for sure.”

“Ditto”, she grins. “Out of curiosity - did you have curly hair as a baby?”

“Are you saying you want to have kids with me just so you can pass on my beautiful genes, Santiago?”

“Oh yeah, that’s  _ totally _ the only reason.” 

“Knew it. From what I’ve seen of your brothers’ kids - and the baby pictures your brothers have shown me to embarrass you - yours aren’t that bad, either.”

Amy chuckles, running her right hand through the curls their kids may or may not inherit. “We’ll have cute kids.”

“We will.”

 

She kisses him, and he’s still scared, but much less so when her lips are against his and she’s standing a little bit on her toes and his hands are on her back while hers follow their usual habit of cupping his face. She kisses him, and the future makes him nervous, but he holds her in his arms and knows they’re doing it together. She kisses him, and in the end, he’s confident raising kids together with Amy Santiago is sure to be one of the scariest but most rewarding experiences of his life. 

As long as he gets to do it with her, he can’t wait.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos (almost 600 on this now??) and comments always super-appreciated. and yes, i know i write a lot of fic in their kitchen and no, i don't know why. i'll try to vary it soon.


	20. let's write a story, be in my book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the waterpark fic everyone asked for <3 set after 6x12.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think i'm going to be writing fic based upon 6x12 for a long while yet then you're RIGHT, my friends. i'm already working on the next thing. also, this turned out twice the length i thought it would but what the hell it's cute.
> 
> title from would you be so kind by dodie.

Amy has to admit she loves the waterpark. 

Whatever misunderstandings about major viewpoints in life it took for them to make their way here, she's secretly happy they did; her husband’s goofy smile the moment they drive into the parking lot strengthens her faith that she made the right decision. In going to the waterpark, for one, but also in marrying the one man who somehow can make a vacation among overpriced ice cream and unhygienic waterslides feel nearly as dreamy as their honeymoon.

 

It's been too long since she used the sleek red bathing suit she purchased over a year ago. From the way he looks at her when she steps out of the changing room - the way his cheeks flush and his eyes darken with desire for a second - she can tell he agrees. They may be at a park with kids and families everywhere, hardly at an appropriate location for sneaking away, but she promises him  _ tonight  _ with a whisper in his ear and he groans something inaudible into her shoulder which makes her laugh.

 

Laughing, to be fair, is a substantial part of their activities for the first of the two waterpark days they settled on. A year into their distracting, childish marriage, Amy’s finding it always seems to be. Day after day he makes her laugh; constantly for new reasons and rarely for ones she expects. They race against each other on the slides, and his puerile victory gesture the first time he wins makes her lose it so hard she forgets to move aside and is nearly knocked in the head by the unknown seven-year-old riding after her. They compete about who can hold their breath longest underwater, and she giggles at his gutted grimace when he loses. They get ice cream, hers salted caramel and his cookies and cream, and share frustrated laughs over how quickly it melts. They kiss with melted ice cream on their lips. They get back into the water once they’re ready, racing against each other in the swimming lanes this time, and she can’t help but chuckle when she wins for the third time in a row. Then, just as she thinks she has the upper hand in their childlike competing, he tickles her without warning and she’s in stitches again as she fails to get out of his grip. 

 

She gets to spend the rest of her life with him. If the waterpark - and the years she’s known him preceding it - is any indication, and it’s true what they say about laughter prolonging your life, Amy’s harboring a growing suspicion that she might live forever. 

 

There is, however, a significant difference in this vacation. It is one she understood was unavoidable after the emotional conversation at their anniversary celebration, but it still has her taken aback, making her wonder and worry at the same time. 

 

Parents with young kids seem to be overrepresented at the waterpark. They're hanging out on the sunbeds, chasing wild toddlers around in the crowds and trying to stop them from falling, playing with buckets and foam toys in the kiddie pools. Jake looks at them for longer than he used to do, regarding first the kids and then how their parents act around them. He's using the same observant gaze as he would at a stakeout, but she  _ thinks  _ he's smiling. He seems to drift away in his head each time, and for once, Amy has a hard time reading him. 

  
She always figured he wanted kids as much as she did, and interpreted his behavior around them and his enthusiastic responses to what she thought was luculent hints about it as clear-cut evidence of them being on the same page. Now she knows she was partially mistaken. Even though he eventually admitted to wanting them  _ with her _ after a little bit of time, there’s a biting fear in her heart of him changing his mind, or god forbid, not meaning what he said in the first place. She trusts him wholeheartedly - but as well as she knows him, she still can’t read his thoughts or know for sure what he’s thinking. 

 

They’re sat at the edge of one of the pools, dipping their feet and people-watching, when her curiosity gets the best of her. 

A short distance away, a man about their age with dark blonde hair and grey swimming shorts is playing with a child Amy assumes to be his son. With luscious curls and an ecstatic grin as he’s being gently pushed around in a swimming ring with turtles on it, the kid is downright  _ adorable _ , and she tears her eyes away for a moment only to notice the smile on Jake’s lips as he observes them. 

“Hey.” She places a hand on his shoulder, warm from the sun, to draw his attention to her. “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh.” He blushes. “Doesn’t matter, it’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Well, just - the future, I guess”, he confesses with a bashful look. “I had an idea.”

“I love your ideas”, she blurts out too fast. “Well, I mean, some of them. I’m still not one hundred percent convinced about your idea of building a Die Hard-inspired headboard which looks like Nakatomi Plaza for the bed.”

He gasps, feigning upsetness. “That was a  _ great _ idea and I stand by it. But no, it wasn’t what I was thinking of.” 

“What were you thinking of, then?”

“Traditions.”

“Traditions?” She frowns. “What do you mean, like holidays?”

“More like random ones. You know, I never really had proper ones with my family, but I was always jealous of the kids who did. So I thought…” Jake looks at the laughing toddler, then back at Amy. “Maybe this could be one of ours when we have kids? The waterpark. We could go every year, and it could be this family thing, and… I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I told you it was silly.”

 

Of all the things he could have been thinking of, this didn’t cross her mind - yet it warms her heart, awakening the butterflies in her stomach when she’s reminded of the unsurpassed thought and reality of the love of her life wanting - at some point - to start a family with her. It doesn’t make her cry, but it’s not far from it, and if they weren’t surrounded by a sea of strangers she would do more than press a chaste but sweet kiss to his lips. 

“I didn’t know you were thinking about what it’d be like. Us and kids.”

“I am now”, he tells her. “It’s kind of overwhelming, and a lot, but I like it.”

“Really?”

He nods. She dangles her feet, creating waves in the water. “I’m happy to hear that.” 

“I still need a bit of time”, he reiterates. “A few more months at least. But I do want it with you, even if it scares me half to death. All these kids and families around here - they’re cute, you know?” She beams in agreement. “I know it’s cheesy, but looking at them and thinking about having that with you… it makes me want it, Ames, for real.”

She’s uncertain what to say, how to describe the exuberant happiness in her chest when he tells her this, so she hugs him instead. His skin is warmer than usual from the sun, making him even more the personal heater he already is to her, and she never wants to let go.

“That makes me so happy”, she whispers in his ear before retreating, still making eye contact as she delivers her promise. “And yes. We can go to the waterpark  _ every _ year.”

His face lights up. “For realz?”

“Maybe not if we have a newborn”, she laughs, “but after that, yes. Let's make it a tradition.”

“It's already my favorite one.”

 

This time, he kisses her - a little longer than she'd call ideal considering their audience, but she's not complaining - soft but with some purpose, interrupted first when one of the kids on the other edge of the pool spots them.

“ _ Mommy _ ! Those people are  _ kissing _ !”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jake has totally suggested a nakatomi plaza headboard for their bed and you can't tell me otherwise xoxo


	21. you and me, forevermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy loves lists, but there is one list she loves more than all the others.
> 
> Or; Happy first anniversary, Jake and Amy. ❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi it's late(ish) and i should be sleeping but it's peraltiago's first wedding anniversary so... i sat down and wrote like 1.1k for you.  
> god, i'm so nice sometimes. i would say i apologise for the cheesiness of this fic but i honestly don't.

Amy’s always been a list person.

 

She has to-do-lists for her days, weeks, and months and keeps them all structured in meticulous, color-coordinated fashion. She makes shopping lists for every store run in her life and detests going to Target without a list organized by shelf order. She solves many of her cases using detailed lists of clues, puzzling intricate pieces together until it clicks.

 

Her favorite list, though, is the one her heart inadvertently began to write a little over four years ago when Jake Peralta thought he’d find her in the evidence room and less than a minute later, she was kissing him _for realz_.

It’s the least structured of her lists - the most haphazard one by far. It’s not alphabetized, has no numerical order, no particular system or guide. Truthfully, it’s sort of a complete and utter mess, and yet it’s the one she’s most fond of.

 

 **_Reasons I love Jake Peralta,_ ** the title of Amy’s mental list reads. A title, and then the bottomless list of items on it, listed in scattered order.

 

 _He’s funny_ , seems to keep its place at the top. _He makes me laugh. There’s never a dull moment with him_.

 _He knows me_ , remains its steady competitor. _He knows what I need, what to say, when I’m not okay._

 _He has the warmest heart I’ve ever known_ , is somewhere around there. _He always wants to do the right thing for everyone. If more people were like him, the world would be a better place._

 _He’s my best friend_ , the list continues. _He’s a brilliant detective, a priceless asset wherever he works.  He has the most charming smile I’ve seen. He’s the best person to cuddle with, and somehow always seems to stay warm. He loves watching Property Brothers and Jeopardy as much as I do. He knows every single Taylor Swift song, and if I ever have a nightmare, he’ll sing them to me until I start laughing. He knows how to make a mean pasta. He never complains that I work too much because he’s the same, but at the same time, he sees the signs when I’m putting too much pressure on myself and knows when to stop me so I don’t burn out. I could talk to him every day for the rest of my life without growing bored. He’s the person I want to love until the day I’m not here anymore, he’s the person I want to have and raise children with, he’s the only one I could imagine infinity with._

 

Amy Santiago doesn’t know whether they’ll have infinity together, but as of May 15th, 2019, when they observe the numbers on his FitBit changing to roughly the point in the evening where one year ago they said _I do_ , she knows they’ve had a year as a married couple.

 

Their restaurant date tonight is not the first celebration of their wedding anniversary. The first took place at a hospital nearly a month ago; Jake had been right about their anniversary coming up, though with his poor sense of time, he exaggerated its proximity a bit. They both agreed to count the waterpark vacation as a second celebration. This night, celebrated with a reservation at no place other than _Bouche Manger_ , is technically their third celebration.

(“Three celebrations means three more chances to drink champagne,” her husband (of a year!) had insisted when she’d reflected on it. “We better make the most of it this year, huh?”)

She agreed, and so they did.

 

She’s tipsy now, walking with his hand in hers to steady her, and everything seems brighter even though it’s getting dark.

 _His hands are warm_ , she adds to the list. _His hands are warm, and every time I hold them I feel safe._

The moon is not full yet - a few days left, she’s guessing - but it’s bright, peeking through the sullen clouds visible in the late night May sky. They’re walking along the water at Prospect Park Lake, neither of them ready to return home already, and she’s a little chilly but Jake is an efficient portable heater.

 

 **_Reasons I love Jake Peralta, continued_** , Amy’s thoughts go.

_He looks at me like I’m the one thing he loves most in the world including Die Hard. He makes me believes it’s true._

 

She’s brought back to reality by his voice, asking but not demanding, checking on her without making her feel pressured.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she confesses. “Just… you.”

“Did I spill something on my shirt again? I really tried my best, you know, but stains are so _visible_ on light pink and I know you love this shirt but -”

“No.” Amy laughs, coming to a halt near a tree before backing so she’s leaning half against it. “I was thinking about how much I love you.”

“Oh.” Jake grins. “That’s funny, I was thinking about the same thing.”

“Really?”

“Actually, I was thinking about how a cloud over there looked a lot like Hitchcock’s face,” he teases with a smirk on his lips. She rolls her eyes and he chuckles, pecking her lips before adding to his answer. “And you. Obviously you.”

“Happy I can be up there together with Hitchcock.”

“Oh, _ew_ , please forget I ever mentioned him.”

“No can do,” she shakes her head, snaking her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer. “C’mere, though. Kiss me.”

 

He obliges, his hands on the back of her head to support her, keeping crumbly bits of tree bark from getting in her hair. In a way, the kiss has its similarities to the first time she kissed _him_ , trying to keep her eyes open and focused on the perp when all she wanted was to close them, lean into the kiss and pour all her waiting and longing into it. It’s also not the slightest bit the same.

She hadn’t been entirely sure then, whether she was making the right decision or rushing headfirst into one made up of invincible impulses. Four years later, she’s never been _more_ sure, and she channels it through the way she moves her lips over his, feeling the remaining taste of toffee and vanilla gelato from the dessert he insisted they’d split as her tongue gently traces the edge of his teeth.

They kiss until they’re breathless, forced to retreat for air, and barely even then she wants to let go.

 

“Maybe we should go home,” he suggests with flushed cheeks as she has to pull at the edges of her red dress, adjusting it where a curious hand may have moved it slightly upwards. “Continue celebrating there, and whatnot.”

“Yeah,” she nods, standing on the tip of her toes to press a kiss near the collar of his shirt. “Let’s go home.”

 

 **_Reasons I love Jake Peralta_ ** , Amy thinks before going to sleep that night, snuggling up so close to her husband she can hear his heartbeat when she rests her head on his chest.

 _He is mine, and I am his, and nothing’s ever felt more right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated, as is encouragement for me to finish my LAST ASSIGNMENTS FOR HIGH SCHOOL because in less than a week i will have handed them all in. so. that's freaky.

**Author's Note:**

> you can come find me @ amyscascadingtabs on tumblr to chat about these dorks and feel free to check out some of my other works for even more peraltiago fluff! also, I'm always open for prompts/requests - can't promise anything but if you have anything specific you'd like to see I might write it for you :)


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